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