Page 6
She pondered that comment for a moment, then grinned, lifting the fork like a white flag.“Well, if you’re ordering me to, then I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Sal allowed himself a small smile.
She stabbed at the pasta, twirling it elegantly on her spoon.He couldn’t help approving the motion.A proper Italian woman.Even drunk, she remembered how to eat pasta the right way.
Then she used the fork to point directly at him.“They’re vicious predators, you know.”
He blinked.Who?
Before he could ask, she stabbed a scallop and popped it into her mouth.A low, unrestrained moan escaped her throat, her eyes fluttering closed.Sal’s pulse tripped, his imagination supplying entirely different scenarios in which she might make that sound.
Then her eyes popped open.“Dragonflies!”she clarified.“They’ll pin a female down, inseminate her, then hover over her to make sure she gives birth to his babies.”
Sal’s brows shot up.He wasn’t sure if he was horrified or wildly entertained.“Is that true?”
“Yep.”She nodded matter-of-factly, then scooped up more pasta.Another groan, soft and lingering, made Sal grip his glass harder.
Not that he’d ever find out if she made that same noise in bed.She was off-limits.Absolutely off-limits.
She swallowed and leaned forward.“A rooster will pin down hens too.They can have sex about thirty times every day.”
Sal blinked.Thirty?That was…impressive.He glanced at Tony.His second in command had already pulled out his phone, thumbs flying.Sure enough, a moment later he nudged one of the guards, shoving the screen under his nose.Both men’s eyebrows shot up in admiration.
Sal shook his head, hiding a laugh in his glass.He was good, yes.Legendary even.But thirty times a day?Every day?Roosters deserved medals.
Catarina, oblivious, twirled her pasta with the grace of a duchess.“There’s even non-consensual sex in the plant world,” she added gravely.
Sal nearly choked on his scotch.“I’m sorry—what?”
“Plants,” she said, chewing thoughtfully before setting down her utensils with surprising precision.She folded her hands neatly in her lap, as though they were at afternoon tea.“When a gardener doesn’t want cross-pollination of a squash or tomato or whatever, they’ll close up the blossom.Then the next morning, they swirl the stamen around on the pistil.”She nodded once, her expression utterly serious.“That’s non-consensual.”
He chuckled.“Well, if that’s the case, then all forms of plant fertilization are non-consensual.The wind and bugs do the fertilizing without consent from the flower.”
She tilted her head, pursing those very kissable lips.Then she nodded solemnly.“You’re right.Nature is an asshole.”
The word slipped out before she realized it.Her gasp was audible as both hands flew to cover her mouth.
Sal stared, stunned.Had this very proper lady just saidasshole?
“I did not say that!”she hissed, darting glances around the room.When she confirmed no one else had noticed, she leaned toward him.“Don’t you dare tell anyone I said that word.”
His chuckle betrayed him, and he didn’t miss the way his guards were smirking nearby.“It’ll be our secret.”
“Bulls too,” she blurted.
Sal blinked.“Bulls too…what?”
“They don’t give consent.”She sighed and reached for the bread basket.He watched, riveted, as she chose a piece of cheesy bread, deliberately crumbling it over her remaining pasta.“Could you imagine being the poor guy who has to…you know…strap something on the bull to collect semen?”
Sal nearly choked on his scotch.“What?”
She was laughing now, covering her nose and mouth with one finger while the other hand clutched the bread.“I can just picture the poor guy in a bar somewhere in Oklahoma, trying to pick up a pretty young thing.”Her giggles spilled out, light and sweet, though usually he found giggling intolerable.When Catarina did it, it was pure temptation.
She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling wickedly.“She’d ask what he does for a living, and he’d have to admit it.But what would he even call himself?”She tapped her chin, then her grin broke loose.“Oh, I know—he’d be a bull diddler!”
For a moment, Sal could only stare, dumbfounded.Then the absurd image she’d planted in his head hit him full force, and he threw back his head, laughing until his sides hurt.Damn, she was adorable.
When her laughter ebbed, she carefully placed the remaining half of her bread on the plate and dabbed her fingers with the napkin.Her expression softened, but the mischievous glint never quite left her eyes.“That was dreadful of me,” she sighed, clearly anything but remorseful.
