Chapter 20ANGELO

Chapter 20

ANGELO

I can't believe Candi just agreed to share our bed with me. I expected her to argue about it and was prepared to make myself a bed on the floor.

Not to leave, of course, but I doubt she'd expect me to. We belong together and I think under her Grumpy Cat cynicism she knows it.

Candi's disheveled appearance reminds me that there is something we need to do before living out one of the many fantasies that have played over and over again in my head for the last year.

"Come on, amate . I think you're going to like the bathroom." Taking her soft, smaller hand in mine I lead her into the bathroom.

Just like the bedroom, the designer used teal in the décor because I told her to. It's Candi's favorite color. Will she notice the intentional mix of teal and gray? The color of my eyes paired with the color that she likes best is a reflection of our connection.

Of our lives entwined.

I thought about telling the designer to use the rich chocolate brown of Candi's eyes as the other accent color. But that shade of brown belongs to me. Not the staff that makes the bed, or the cleaners who vacuum under it.

Just me. Does that make me a little obsessed? Maybe, but I'm a sociopath and she's my person. That means I'm possessive about everything personal related to Candi.

"What do you think?" I can't help asking.

I've been waiting months to share the home I bought and furnished for her with la mia piccola gatta .

She takes a second to look at the double sink vanity made with a space for her to sit and do her hair and makeup. Her gaze slides to the walk-in shower with teal frosted glass surround and the oversized tub that we can bathe in together. It has jets that are placed specifically to soothe sore leg and back muscles because of her dancing.

Whether, or not, she continues to work at Pitiful Princess, my Candi loves to dance. If it is up to me, she will always have an outlet for that.

"Do you want me to buy you a dance studio?" Would she enjoy teaching dance?

She's working on a degree in business, but that could apply to lots of stuff. It doesn't have to mean she hopes to have her own studio one day.

One thing I've never heard her talk about to her mom or sister is Candi's plans for the future.

She gives me that deer in the headlights look again, like when I mentioned her mom and sister's room in the other wing. "Uh, I don't know how to answer that."

"Yes, or no works for me. Or you need to think about it." The book I read on relationships said that some people are used to snap decisions (that would be me) and others need time to consider all the angles.

Candi might be like that.

She winces. "Can we focus on the here and now?"

So, the idea of a dance studio is like her mom and sister moving in with us. Something she has to get used to. "Sure, piccola gatta ."

She makes a choked sound, and I realize she's caught an image of herself in the mirror.

Her hands fly to her head and she tries to smooth down the tangled brown strands. "Why didn't you tell me I was such a mess?"

Is that a real question? The look on her face says it is.

"I will never tell you that. You are always beautiful to me. You could shave your head, dress in trash bags, and I would still think you're beautiful." I hope she doesn't shave her head though.

Her hair is a curtain of dark silk that I itch to take my gloves off and run my fingers through. Maybe when she's got less of other people's sweat and germs from the alley in it.

"Yeah. No. Not about to wear a trash bag like a rain poncho."

Endlessly intrigued by her, I ask, "Did someone make you do that?"

"My mom didn't make me. She did it to keep me dry. When there's no money for a raincoat, a trash bag with holes cut for your neck and arms works."

She and her mom lived in poverty while her father, the capo, lived a life of luxury with the family he acknowledged. I really want to kill Stefano Bianchi.

"Anyway, I've been growing my hair out since I moved in with mom and Cookie and I'm not about to cut it off now."

She must get it trimmed though because when her luxurious hair isn't tangled up around her head, it reaches just past the middle of her back. It would cover her ass if she'd been growing it that long and never trimmed it.

Besides, it always looks smooth and healthy. I wonder if one of the other girls cuts it for her. Candi doesn't spend money on herself if she can help it.

That's something that's going to change. She will never have to do without so her mom and sister have what they need again. I will make sure they all have everything they want now that they are my family too.

"Why since then?" Every little thing about Candi fascinates me.

"Mom was the first foster parent who didn't force me to cut it to make it easier to manage." Candi makes air quotes when she says easier to manage . "There is no way I'm cutting it unless I don't have a choice."

"You will always have a choice." I'll make sure of it.

She grimaces. "Do you have a brush, or something?"

I point toward the side of the vanity that is hers. "Check in there."

Eager to see her response to my attempt to get her all the same things she has at home, but better when I can, I watch as she pulls open the top drawer. The breath exhales from her mouth in a small gasp when she sees what's inside.

Beautiful brown eyes gleaming with interest, she opens one of the eye shadow palettes. "It's never been used."

"Of course not. It's yours." I can't help brushing her hair back from her shoulder just to touch her. "I know you like that brand. But you hardly ever buy it."

"That's because it's so expensive." She stares up at me, her expression disbelieving. "All of this is for me?"

"Everything on that side of the vanity is for you."

She swallows. "Okay, not addressing that right now."

She opens the drawer below and gasps again, this time a little louder. That drawer is filled with the things she needs to style her hair. High-end versions of her favorite hair products, along with the best blow dryer and straightener on the market.

I consulted with one of the top hair stylists in New York. His receptionist tried to tell me I couldn't get an appointment for at least six months. Once we got that straightened out, he was happy to consult with me on what to get Candi.

Or, you know, happy to keep the fingers he needed to keep doing his job. He even offered to cut my hair.

But I don't let people touch me that I don't know.

That might be a problem. Not for me, but I don't want people to touch Candi that I haven't vetted either. What if she wants to go to a hairstylist? Or get a massage?

Hard no on that one. Even if it's a woman.

Maybe I should watch some YouTube videos on how to do it.

All of the potential situations that might necessitate Candi being touched by a stranger land hard, one on top of the other. Doctors appointments. Getting blood drawn.

Despite her reserved nature, my boss's wife is going to want to hug Candi when they meet. Catalina's not a stranger, but I still don't like it.

And there's Candi's friends. Bianca. Piper. The other dancers. She's going to want to keep them in her life and spend time with them.

Forcing the spiraling thoughts away, I focus on the way Candi touches each item in the drawer like it's precious. Nothing, not even my need to protect her is going get in the way of enjoying our first night together in our home.

"Would you like to take a shower first?" I look at the bath. "Or maybe we could use the tub and you'll let me wash your hair."

I don't care if it makes me strange, but I have fantasies of washing my woman's beautiful, long hair. Of taking care of her and pampering her in the way she deserves.

She spends so much time taking care of other people. Her mom. Her sister. The other dancers, though I doubt they realize how she lobbies on their behalf with her bestie and their advocate in la famiglia , Bianca De Luca.

Candi stares at me, her eyes wide. "You want to wash my hair?

"Yes."

"No one has done that, not since mommy died." Her expression is blank, not telling me anything about how that makes her feel.

"Will you let me? "

She bites her lip and nods. "Yes, but can we do it in the shower? I don't want to soak in water cloudy with shampoo and conditioner from my hair."

"Good thinking." Since I don't take baths, I wouldn't have thought of that.

I start stripping my clothes off, piling my weapons in the specialty drawer in the vanity for that purpose. There's another drawer just like it in the nightstand on my side of the bed.

Candi's eyes are wide again as she watches the collection of knives and guns go into the drawer. "Wow. I would never have guessed you had that many weapons on you."

"That's the idea." Leaving one of my guns on top of the counter, I close the drawer and press the pad that sets the biometric lock.

The house and our bedroom are as safe as I can make them, but not having a weapon accessible would be as unthinkable as cutting off my own trigger finger.

I remove my boots and stack them side by side on the shoe rack that folds out from the wall. They can remain there until the morning, or I can put them in the closet with my others. Either way, no one will trip over them and knock them askew.

The fold-down shoe rack is part of my accommodation for living with another person.

After removing my shirt, I fold it and place it in the laundry hamper built into the vanity.

Unstrapping the ultralightweight body armor I require my entire crew to wear at all times, I let my eyes roam over mia amate . "You're not getting undressed."

She shakes her head, like she's trying to gather her thoughts and pulls the long sleeved t-shirt over her head, revealing the bodysuit underneath.

"You need warmer clothes." And better ones, but I don't say that out loud.

All of my clothes are made with silk or impact resistant materials, if not a blend of both. The strongest natural fiber on the planet, using silk is not an indulgence, but a necessity in my line of work.

The clothing hanging in Candi's side of the closet is made with the same high-end fabrics, but it's a hell of a lot prettier than my wardrobe of black t-shirts and cargo pants, augmented with a few bullet proof black suits for when Severu wants me to look the part.

She grimaces. "My clothes are fine. Stop sounding like my mom, or the shower isn't going to be nearly as sexy as I'm anticipating."

Her words run through me like an electric current. Shower and sexy being the ones that stand out.

It only takes me seconds to remove my body armor, adjust the straps for easy access without dangling messily, and lay it parallel to my gun on the counter. Grabbing the back of the neck of my undershirt, I quickly yank it over my head and fold it for the laundry hamper as well, not taking as much care as usual to make sure the rectangle of fabric is symmetrical on all sides.

Forcing myself not to grab it back out of the hamper, I notice that Candi has stopped moving again. Her eyes don't have that far away, zoned out look now. She's staring at me, but it's not how I dispose of my dirty clothes that has her mesmerized.

Her mouth parted slightly, her pretty brown gaze is stuck firmly on my chest.

I don't mind this reverse in our usual situation and flex my pectorals for her. Candi licks her lips, sending blood surging through my already hard cock.

Taking my time, I remove my black cargo pants, sliding them over the erection straining against my boxers. She makes a sexy little sound as I push the impact resistant fabric down my thighs.

"You're beautiful." she says, her voice filled with awe.

"No one has ever called me beautiful before." She can call me whatever she wants, but it feels strange.

Leaving my boxers on I drop to kneel in front of her and begin untying her shoes. "Here let me get these off you."

Lifting her foot for me to pull off her tennis shoe and the no-show sock she's wearing under it, reveals an unmistakable wet spot in the crotch of the bodysuit.

Head bent down, the scent of her arousal surrounds me, almost destroying my self-control.

Candi wants me. Maybe even as much as I want her.

She lifts her other foot, reminding me what I'm supposed to be doing. For the first time in memory, my hands tremble as I take off her other shoe and sock.

I have to control the slavering beast inside me, or I'm going to fuck her up against the wall without giving her the care I promised myself I would.

Forcing myself to complete my task, I fold her socks together and put them in the laundry hamper.

"Hey, I'm going to need those to wear home tomorrow."

I ignore that comment like she's been trying to ignore mine about her moving in and put her tennis shoes next to my boots on the shoe rack. Her dancer's feet are so much smaller than mine.

Turning back to her, I try to figure out how to remove the bodysuit thing. "How do we get this off you?"

Not averse to grabbing one of my knives from the weapons drawer and cutting the awful thing to shreds, I run my hands up the outside of her thighs.

Candi shudders. "The neck hole stretches."

"Never wear this again." The Lycra smashes her gorgeous, round tits into one amorphous curve. "It hides your body."

"A. That's the idea. B. You don't get to dictate my wardrobe choices." The heat in her eyes makes her defiant frown less convincing.

"I don't like the way it hides you from me ."

"Haven't you gotten your fill of seeing my body?"

My brows draw together in confusion. "Is that a trick question? I could look at you all day long, every day for the next century and still not get my fill."

"Oh," she breathes out, like I surprised her.

How is that a surprise? I've been obsessed with her for a year.

She grabs the neckline at her shoulder and stretches it so the Lycra can slide down her upper arm. "I don't want to hide my body from you ."

"Good." We'd have a hell of a problem if she did.

Candi pulls her left arm free without exposing her luscious tits, but her nipples are pressing against the stretchy fabric now.

One of the first things I noticed about Candi was how dancing the pole didn't turn her on. She did a good job faking it, but she was just going through the motions.

Stripping for me turns her on though.

And in turn that makes me hotter than I already am. Fuck. We are not going to make it into the shower at this rate.

Candi pulls her right arm out of the bodysuit and then pushes the Lycra down, allowing her generous breasts to bounce free.

All the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh.

Nipples the color of raspberry sorbet, dark pink and luscious, drawn tight into rigid peaks make my mouth water.

I want to touch, but keep my mitts where they are as she continues to push the stretchy fabric down her body until it bunches right above my hands.

"Help me?" she invites.

I take over and push the bodysuit down to her ankles with a lot more speed less finesse. She steps out of it, kicking it aside.

My need to put it in the hamper is only a twinge compared to the other needs she provokes in me. To taste and touch. To fuck and pleasure. To claim.

Her perfectly smooth, puffy pussy lips are bisected by a slit glistening at the edges with her juices. My head leans forward to taste before I realize what I'm doing and I jerk it back.

"Fuck, amate , I want to taste you, but that will have to wait."

"Why?" she asks breathlessly.

"Because if I touch your pussy now, I will not cherish you the way you deserve." And my Candi deserves everything good. "Are your inner lips the same raspberry as your nipples?"

She widens her stance just a little. "Why don't you check and find out?"

My groan is loud and not at all exaggerated.

Surging to my feet, I step back, away from temptation. "You are playing with fire, piccola gatta ."

Crossing her arms under her tits, putting them on display in a way she cannot be unaware of, she gives me a heavy-lidded smile. "Are you going to take off your gloves or do you shower with them on too?"

"You know I do not wear them all the time." Just most of the time. "You got me to take them off at the club earlier."

"That didn't last very long." She pouts up at me.

"I won't put them back on until we leave the bedroom," I promise.

She cocks one eyebrow. "That implies you're going to take them off now."

In answer I peel my gloves off, placing them precisely on top of my body armor.

Her gaze flicks to the counter with my things on it and then back to me. "You're very particular about where things go."

"Does that bother you?" There's no point in denying a truth I cannot change.

Everything has its place. Including me. I belong in the Cosa Nostra.

Including Candi. She belongs with me