by Lynsay Sands
Ildaria was about to thank him for the kindness with a blow to the balls, followed by one to the head when the man said, “You must be Ildaria. G.G.’s told us all about you.” He then turned his head and shouted, “I have found them, my love. They are fine.” Turning back then, he smiled faintly and told her, “She tends to worry.”
Ildaria lowered the knee she’d been about to plant in his groin, pretty sure the man wasn’t a threat. The problem was, she had no idea who he was. Some friend of G.G.’s? Then she heard footsteps hurrying up the hall from the bedrooms and glanced that way with curiosity.
“You may want to cover up, dear,” G.G.’s friend said kindly.
Suddenly recalled to her nudity, Ildaria gasped and then scrambled around the island with a squeal of alarm, looking for something to cover herself with. There was nothing. Her pants were a shredded mess on the floor, and she couldn’t immediately spot her bustier, so she grabbed the nearest thing to hand, a tea towel, and held it over her body.
It was a small tea towel. It almost covered her breasts, leaving the outer curve of each boob visible on either side of the towel, but she wasn’t at all confident it reached down to cover her groin. Ildaria was feeling the bottom, trying to see if it did, when three people rushed into the kitchen.
Two women and a man hurried around the island and then stopped abruptly as they took in the scene. Ildaria shifted uncomfortably under their gaping gazes, her own moving over them in return. One woman was a very pretty blonde with blue eyes that matched the summery sky-blue dress she wore. The other had black hair with bright fuchsia tips and was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt. She also bristled with weapons. They were all over her; a knife was strapped to her outer thigh, another knife rested in a holder attached to a belt around her waist, while a gun holster dangled from the same belt on the other side. She was also wearing a chest holster with two guns in it. The man was similarly decked out with weapons. He had dark hair, rugged features, and was of a similar size to G.G. except that he was a couple inches shorter, or perhaps it was just that G.G.’s Mohawk made him seem taller, she acknowledged.
“I love the boots,” the woman with black and fuchsia hair said finally, breaking the silence.
Ildaria closed her eyes on a sigh, her humiliation complete, and then the blonde woman said, “Joshua, get up off the floor. What are you doing down there?” and Ildaria blinked her eyes open again in time to see G.G. finally drag himself to his feet on the other side of the island with a muttered, “Just writhing in agony. Nothing to worry about.”
Ildaria felt a moment’s guilt as she recalled that she’d accidentally kneed him, but then scowled when she noticed that he was, of course, fully clothed. G.G. had merely undone his jeans earlier, not removed them, and now his T-shirt was hanging down, hiding his groin area. She couldn’t tell if he was still hanging out of his pants or not, but to anyone looking he appeared fully dressed . . . the bastard, she thought resentfully.
“Writhing in agony?” the woman was asking, sounding concerned as she pulled him into a hug. Leaning back, she then peered into his face and patted his chest as if looking for injuries as she asked, “Why? Oh, I knew there was something wrong when we didn’t get an answer to our knock. What happened? Are you all right?”
Ildaria’s eyes narrowed. The woman was touching and petting G.G. with a proprietary air, as if she had a right to, and she didn’t find that pleasing at all. If she didn’t stop it, Ildaria was going to make her stop.
“Nothing,” G.G. said soothingly. “I’m fine. Ildaria just—” He paused to glance around then, looking for her, she realized when he turned and spotted her on the other side of the island. His eyes widened incredulously as he caught sight of her in her boots and tea towel, and then he pulled from the blonde’s hold and hurried around the island.
Ildaria backed up instinctively when he neared, a squeak of alarm slipping from her when he reached out as if to hug her. G.G. froze at once, realization streaking across his face. Touching would not be good. Not with her naked and him sporting the erection now tenting his T-shirt. It had popped up the moment he spotted her, telling her that no, he hadn’t tucked himself away.
Cursing, he pulled his hands back, hesitated, and then with his back to the group, tugged his T-shirt off over his head and immediately dropped it over hers. It was huge on her, falling to her knees, she noted with relief as she released the tea towel to slip her arms through the short sleeves.
While she did that, G.G. set to work tucking himself away and doing up his jeans. It appeared to be something of an effort with the erection he was now waving around, but he managed it with a pained grimace or two. She noticed he was very careful about the zipping part though, and really, the bulge once he was done was as obvious as the tent had been.
Sighing, G.G. shared a grimace with her and then stepped to her side and turned to face the four people watching them from across the room. Shoulders straightening, he said proudly, “Mother, Father, this is Angelina Ildaria Sophia Lupita Garcia Pimienta, my life mate.”
Ildaria’s mouth dropped at those words, and she wheeled on G.G in dismay.
Thirteen
G.G. stared at Ildaria with a somewhat bemused expression as she ranted at him in Spanish, although ranting wasn’t quite the right word for what she was doing. She appeared to be having an emotional meltdown; dismay, despair, and accusation were alternating on her expression as she spat words in rapid-fire Spanish, her hands all over the place. She was definitely upset about something. In fact, his brave little warrior looked like she was on the verge of tears . . . or choking him. He wasn’t sure which.
He really needed to learn the language, G.G. decided. He was catching a word here and there he thought he understood, like madre and padre. He knew that was mother and father. He was quite sure he’d caught hacienda in the avalanche of words pouring from her lips too, which meant house or home or something like that. But she’d also spat out puta at one point, which he knew translated to whore, and he couldn’t figure out where that could work into the conversation.
“Oh myyyy. She speaks Spanish,” his mother breathed with awe when Ildaria ran out of steam and just glared at G.G., probably waiting for him to say something. “It sure is a pretty language,” she added, and then asked, “What did she say? Does she speak English, dear?”
“Yes, of course she speaks English,” G.G. muttered.
It was Mirabeau who told them what she’d said. Lips twitching with amusement, the woman explained, “Ildaria is upset at being caught so . . . unprepared. She apparently didn’t expect you to arrive so soon. G.G. had told her you wouldn’t arrive for a couple of days.”
“Joshua!” his mother said with dismay. “Why would you tell her that? You knew we were flying out right away.”
“I didn’t tell her that,” G.G. assured his mother. When Ildaria made a snorting sound, he turned back and reminded her, “You were the one who suggested they most likely wouldn’t arrive for a couple days. I was about to correct you and say their plane was probably halfway here already when Lucian showed up and you went to let him in.”
Ildaria stared at him silently for a moment and then her head bowed, her shoulders drooped, and she simply turned and left the room.
G.G. watched with a small frown, his gaze dropping to her bare legs, and H.D. abandoned him to follow her as she took a wide route around the group across the kitchen. The little fur ball caught up to her as she passed through the living room, and pranced along at her side as she headed up the hall toward the bedrooms, his little head turned up, watching her with concern the whole way.
There was a day the dog wouldn’t have left his side for anything. Obviously, those days were over. Ildaria had somehow usurped his position as H.D.’s favorite person. He didn’t blame the mutt. She was his favorite person too, and frankly, he’d rather be trailing her to the bedroom himself right now. In fact he should be. She was upset and needed soothing. He couldn’t blame her. This wasn’t how he’d plann
ed her first meeting with his parents to go either.
“She’s beautiful, son.”
G.G. turned his head at his mother’s words and nodded wearily. “Yes. She is. Inside and out.”
“Well, of course she is,” she said with a nod. “You’re lovely inside . . . and would be outside too if you didn’t try so hard not to be,” she added, scowling as her gaze traveled to the Mohawk on his head and then dropped to the tattoos winding over his now naked shoulders and down his arms.
G.G. grinned. His mother hated his Mohawk and tattoos, considering them mutilations of her beautiful boy. Much to his amusement, she never missed an opportunity to let him know that either. It didn’t upset him, but did remind him that he was now standing there shirtless in just his jeans.
Frowning, he shifted on his feet, and then said, “Ildaria seemed upset. I should go talk to her and get my shirt back.”
“No!” The four people facing him said the word at the same time. A brief silence followed as they all glanced at each other a bit wryly, and then his mother turned back to him and said, “Of course, she’s upset, the poor dear. This isn’t how any girl wants to meet her in-laws. No doubt our walking in on the two of you like this was terribly embarrassing for her. But you can’t talk to her.”
“Of course I can. She’s my life mate, I—”
“Your very new life mate,” his mother interrupted. “And we all know how that would go. You’d mean to talk and reassure her, but it would end up in shag city.”
“Shag city?” he echoed with disbelief.
“You know I’m right,” she said firmly.
“Yeah, I just can’t believe you’d call it that,” he rumbled.
“You have tattoos, I have a potty mouth,” she said with a shrug and then headed out of the kitchen. “I will go talk to her.”
G.G. started to protest with alarm, but his mother had burst into immortal speed and was already disappearing up the hall.
“Oh hell,” he said with dismay.
“It will be fine,” Robert said, moving to his side to pat him on the back. “Your mother is just going to reassure her that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about and welcome her to the family.”
“Right,” G.G. breathed, but didn’t feel reassured himself. His mother could be . . . mother.
“His parents! The Enforcers would have been bad enough, but his parents,” Ildaria told H.D. with disgust. The dog sat patiently next to her in front of the closet, head tilted to the side, seeming to listen intently, as Ildaria pulled clothes out of the closet and ranted to him.
“Oh my God! His father saw my bare bottom,” Ildaria realized, stopping to press the top she’d just pulled out to her cheeks as she felt them heat at the memory. Her eyes then widened and she added, “And everything else when I jumped up ready to fight him. Oh Madre de Dios. Thank God I did not knee him in the groin.” Glancing down to H.D., she explained, “I nearly did. I was about to when he said G.G. had told him about me.”
H.D. didn’t respond. He merely tilted his head to the other side now as if thinking.
“If he hadn’t said that when he did . . . ay yi yi.” Ildaria shook her head and pulled out a black skirt next. A glance at the clock as she’d entered the bedroom had told her that it was nearly eight o’clock. She and G.G. usually started work around eight. It gave him an hour to prepare for opening. That meant that Ildaria started at eight as well because one of her jobs was looking after H.D. She usually took the little fur ball down to the office and worked until four a.m., sometimes five if she was in the middle of something, and then she took him up to her apartment until G.G. came to get him.
Ildaria suspected G.G. wouldn’t be working tonight now that his parents were here, but she had every intention of working. It would allow her to avoid facing them again.
God, the humiliation. She’d wanted to make a good impression on them. Not that she’d ever even considered meeting them until today. There had been so many other things on her plate of late; she just hadn’t got that far in the scenario. But once he’d mentioned his parents coming over, she’d started to fret about it in the back of her mind as they’d talked with Lucian and had breakfast.
Finding her naked and unconscious on top of their baby boy had not been part of her plan.
“Yes, well, you know what they say about best laid plans.”
Ildaria swung around sharply at those sympathetic words and found G.G.’s mother standing in the open door of her bedroom. She’d left it open again. She usually did. She lived alone here, after all; there was usually no need for closed doors.
“What do they say about best laid plans?” Ildaria asked finally as H.D. apparently decided she didn’t need him to listen to her anymore and walked over to jump up on the bed.
Mary Guiscard opened her mouth, and then closed it again and smiled wryly. “I don’t really know. It’s just what they always say when things go sideways . . . and they often go sideways,” she added gently.
“Si,” Ildaria sighed and carried the clothes she’d chosen to the bed to lay them out. “Always for me they go sideways.”
“Surely not always?” G.G.’s mother said, taking a couple of tentative steps into the room as if half expecting Ildaria to throw her out. She wouldn’t do that of course, no matter how much she might want to. The woman was G.G.’s mother.
“Si. Always,” she assured her, walking to her dresser to retrieve a bra and panties. White cotton as usual.
“Well, I think your luck has changed then. You’ve met your life mate,” Mary Guiscard pointed out, sounding extremely pleased.
Ildaria tossed the underwear on the bed and then turned to survey the woman’s happy face. G.G.’s mother was positively beaming. You’d think she was the one who had just met her life mate. But Ildaria knew the truth was she thought her son was safe now, that he would turn and she would never need fear losing him to age or the frailties of mortals.
“Even that has gone sideways,” Ildaria confessed unhappily. “I know you are happy thinking G.G. is safe now. I know you hoped he would meet the woman he was a life mate to and agree to the turn, but I am not that woman. He still refuses to turn. I have failed you.”
Coward that she was, Ildaria didn’t stick around to watch the woman fall apart at that news. She never cried and had never been good with women who did. She suspected Mary Guiscard would be a weeper, so she turned and walked into the bathroom, hoping G.G.’s mother would have her little cry and then perhaps go back out to the others now that she knew what a dud she had gained in her son’s life mate.
The moment Ildaria had reached her bedroom after leaving the kitchen, she’d come into the bathroom, taken off her boots and then turned on the water in the shower to allow it to warm up while she searched for clothes. A quick check showed it was warm now, so she tugged G.G.’s T-shirt up over her head, dropped it on the floor next to her discarded boots and stepped into the glass enclosure, then closed the door.
The water was hot and soothing on her body, washing away the evidence of her first time making love, but not the memory. Ildaria stood still and enjoyed it for a moment, and then quickly washed and conditioned her hair, before grabbing the bar of soap. She built up a lather and washed the rest of her body, surprised to find herself sore in some places. It seemed G.G. had been a little overenthusiastic with her breasts. They were tender now as she washed and rinsed them. That surprised her. The tenderness between her legs surprised her too. The pain she’d experienced the first time had been minimal really, sudden, sharp and then quickly gone. She was tender there now, though, and frowned at the knowledge, thinking that the nanos should have healed her already. She and G.G. must have been unconscious on the floor for—
Oh, right, Ildaria thought suddenly. She hadn’t fed yet today. She should have grabbed a bag or two the moment she woke up, but she’d been distracted by G.G.’s presence in her kitchen, and then Lucian had arrived, which had been followed by she and G.G. doing the Mimi.
Good Lord, G.G. was
lucky she hadn’t bit him, Ildaria thought and actually stopped soaping herself up to wonder why she hadn’t, or hadn’t at least been tempted. In the end, she decided she’d simply been too distracted by other needs to recognize that one among them. And then their coupling had been incredibly swift. Both times.
Ildaria had heard the expression “Wham, bam, thank you ma’am,” but with them it had been “Wham, boom” followed by long periods of unconsciousness. She’d guess in the four hours since Lucian had left, they’d spent about three hours and fifty-four minutes unconscious, and perhaps six minutes actually having sex. Three minutes each time. Or perhaps five minutes the first time because they’d had trouble getting her pants off.
Speaking of which, those were a ruin, Ildaria thought as she finished washing and rinsing herself. That was a shame; she had really liked those pants.
Shaking her head, she opened the door and reached out to grab the towel she’d hung up to use earlier. It wasn’t there, but suddenly appeared in front of her. Turning her head, Ildaria found Mary Guiscard holding out the towel.
“You aren’t a failure,” G.G.’s mother told her softly when she didn’t immediately take the towel. “I am. I failed Joshua terribly by allowing him to witness the turn. Which ultimately means I failed you too, and I am terribly sorry for that.”
Mary Guiscard then released the towel and turned to leave the room.
Ildaria caught the towel as it fell, quickly dried her hair and body, then wrapped it around herself and tucked the end into the top before following the woman out of the bathroom. She found G.G.’s mother seated on the bed next to where H.D. had curled up and gone to sleep.
