C H A P T E R - T W E L V E
Both Falcone and I were fixated on each other. He maintained his disgruntled expression, so I chose to speak.
“Hey," I murmured.
He continued to ogle me. Then he walked up to the table, lifted the Nordstrom bag, and retrieved a recognizable box bearing the words "Jimmy Choo" on the top. It wasn't because I had a box like that, but rather because I had tried on Jimmy Choo shoes several times and had seen them before. He placed the box on the table after emptying the bag. Then he threw it tumbling toward me down the table.
Because it was shoes, particularly Jimmy Choo shoes, I moved quickly, my hand leaping out to capture it before something awful happened, like a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes tumbling to the floor.
My pulse was racing as I gazed at Falcone, my hand resting on the box.
"What exactly is this?" I inquired.
"Open it," he snarled, dipping his head to the package.
Hmm. Still dissatisfied.
I set down my handbag and wrap, took up the package, and opened it.
Then my heart stopped beating.
It contained a pair of silver watersnake platform sandals with a slender slingback strap, peep toe, and four point five inch spiky heel. Elegant. Gorgeous. It's frighteningly pricey.
For the last six weeks, Antonette had been keeping the shoes hidden for me in the Nordstrom shoe storage area. I could practically taste the shoes I yearned for. Shoes that I promised myself I'd save up for. Even with Antonette's discount, I could never afford the shoes I wanted to buy.
But before I passed away, I had to have a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. Career ambitions were held by some women. Some ladies aspired to be excellent moms. Some ladies desired to play a little part in global preservation. Owning incredibly exquisite, really costly shoes was my life's ambition.
My gaze was drawn to Falcone.
"I don't understand," I said quietly.
"Are those the shoes you were hoping to buy for?" Falcone inquired.
I blinked.
"Yes," I said.
"You've got them."
It took considerable work, but I managed to avoid having panic attacks.
"Did you buy these for me?" " I inquired as it struck me. System of security. Buttons for panic. Window replacement. Shoes that cost over thirty five thousand pesos.
What was happening?
"You wanted them," he said as if it were that simple.
My head began to light up. “How? Why? ”
"Are you going to put those on, Babe?"
“How? Why? " I said it again.
He exhaled a sigh. "Your acquaintance mentioned that you had them on hold. I'm familiar with your friend's workplace. I dispatched my girl to find them. She tracked down your girl, your girl got 'em off hold, I purchased 'em, and now they're here."
He paused, so I inquired, "That's the how, what's the why?"
"You wanted them, Gia."
"Is that it?" I inquired.
"That's it," he said emphatically.
"I also want my own own tropical island paradise," I explained. "Are you going to fetch it for me as well?" ”
His unpleasant expression altered, and his mouth twitched.
"That might take some time."
My belly felt mushy as I gazed at him, my heart felt like it had expanded a couple sizes and was trying to explode out of my chest, and something tingling was happening in my throat.
"I don't know what to say," I pushed out.
"Don't say anything," he said again. "Just put on your fucking shoes and we'll go eat." "I'm starving."
"All right," I said, pulling up a chair, sitting, unstrapping my strappy, black sandals, and sliding on my new, silver, watersnake, badass Jimmy Choo platforms.
The same as when I tried them on at Nordstrom's. Absolute perfection.
When Falcone talked, I sat with one calf outstretched, starring at my foot, believing I'd just found heaven on earth, shoe style.
"Are you going to sit there and gaze at those shoes for the next decade, or are you going to get in my car?" ”
Falcone was bounced straight off me since my head leaned back and my feet were enclosed in Jimmy Choo shoes.
"I'm going to gaze at them for a decade," I told him, smiling.
His gaze became hot and passionate, my heart swelled even more, and he added, "Babe, stop fuckin' around and let's go."
While Falcone looked on, I rose up, took my bag and clutch from the table, and strolled to him in my new Jimmy Choos.
Then I came to a halt near to him, placed my hand grasping my wrap against his chest, and leaned forward.
"Thank you, Falcone," I said quietly since I couldn't think of anything else to say. Those remarks were far from adequate, but I felt compelled to say something.
Not because he purchased me a wonderful pair of shoes that I desired, but because he overheard Antonette mention it in passing and dispatched his maid to acquire them for me. And since I had a break-in and my window was fixed and a security system was installed in two days.
The fire that began in my parents' living room didn't spread to the rest of the house, and my laptop had been spared owing to his, Dad's, and Big Ben's efforts. And because "thanks" wasn't enough, I leaned in, rose up, and placed my mouth to his.
This caused his head to tilt and his arms to tighten tightly around me, pulling me deep into his body as his tongue entered my mouth and my lips-to-lips contact developed into a full-blown, extremely sensual kiss that ended with sex on my beaten-up farm table.
When I heard my father clear his throat, my clutch and wrap had already fallen to the ground because both of my arms were around his neck, I was pressed up against him, one of his arms was tightly wrapped around my back, and the other hand had slid into my dress and down to cup the cheek of my ass, skin to skin (I was wearing a thong, which was a smart move on my part not only to avoid panty lines but also because his warm, strong hand cupping my ass. Falcone's head jerked up and turned to face the door as his hand slid out of my dress and up to the small of my back, but his arms didn't move even as my hands moved to his shoulders and I squeezed.
Slowly, my head rotated and I watched my Dad step in, a little grin on his lips and his gaze fixed on the floor.
Oh my goodness. My father just witnessed me clinching with Falcone. Falcone's hand in my dress cupping my ass was part of the clinch.
Murder me. Someone. Murder me.
Dad grumbled as he proceeded to the utensil drawer, "Melinda forgot the bottle opener."
"We could be late," Falcone said, still refusing to let me go, "or not home at all."
Oh my goodness.
My gaze was drawn to his face, and I squinted, but he didn't notice since he was staring over my shoulder at Dad.
"Right," Dad grumbled, going back to the door as Falcone stepped back and bent to gather my bag and wrap. "Have fun," Dad said as he went out of the kitchen.
"Later, Dad," I yelled back, my voice strained.