Ironhand (Riders Of Tyr #5 - MC Romance)

36. Earth

Chiara

Mum has done anything in her power to keep me and Ironhand apart. She's even slammed my door open for an impromptu visit. She keeps asking for help with this and that, has Ironhand do chores as if he is the help. All in all, she is being her usual insufferable self, reminding me exactly why I left.

I know she doesn't trust men and unlike other Italian mothers that can't wait for their daughters to find a nice guy with a good job and start popping little Italians, my mother would be glad to see me go on in life alone. She was so irrevocably hurt by my father's betrayal that she has sworn off men and expects me to do the same.

Which I have been doing for most my life, faithful to the Perinelli dogma that all men are pigs and that pig bellies go well with a Beaujolais. But I haven't met Ironhand back then. And I doubt there would be a woman on this planet be it even a devout nun that could resist a man like him.

Speaking of Ironhand, he is handling Sofia well. He takes the hits with his usual grace and manages a few subtle ones below the belt. Thank God, we are leaving tomorrow night and he won't have to endure this anymore. If Mum thought her behavior would change the way I feel about him, she struck out. If anything, I think the world of him now, more than before.

I am walking through the vineyards looking for him. After Mamma managed to keep us apart for most of the day. I am desperate to see him. The workers told me he was last seen going for a walk with Boccaccio at his heels. Sofia is going to have a stroke when she hears that her precious dog took a liking to that Indian and that is enough to bring a smile to my face.

I walk fast, anticipating to meet him. It's been like this since day one. I can't get enough of him and the more I want, the more he gives. And the more he gives, the more addicted I get. I thought he would never fit but he does.

He fits perfectly. I...dio mio... I love him. I do. I feel it. And I know it's real, simply because I have never felt like that before. It aches me to be apart from him, I am myself around him, I trust him, I admire him.

And suddenly, I see him. He is sitting under a tree with his back against the trunk. He has a book in his hand and the other caresses Boccaccio's neck that looks up to him as if he is god incarnate.

I take one step to him, already dreaming of straddling his strong thighs and wrap my arms around his body. I am so gone for this man! And then he senses me as if the cougar in him smelled me and he gets up swiftly putting the book in his back pocket. His wide strides tell me that he missed me too and the look in his dark eyes has the same ferocity it has each time he sees me.

"Woman?" I hear his voice.

I stop and I feel the smile bloom on my lips. It's involuntary this smiling thing that happens to me every single time I see him. Like breathing. He is in those jeans tucked in his boots and a rolled-up shirt and he looks to die for! My man is hot so excuse me for feeling hot, alright? By his side, Boccaccio has sat and looks to him adoringly.

"I see Boccaccio likes you."

"Someone was bound to like me in this place," he smirks.

"Oh, dio, Ironhand, I l-" too soon "...ike you."

For a few moments, we just stand there. He sensed the hesitation in my voice. He is anything if not perceptive, observant and insightful. What a reporter he would have made!

"So," he dispels the heavy atmosphere, "are you done for the day?"

"I am," I cover the distance between us.

"On a scale of 1 to 10," he takes me in his arms, "1 being certainly and 10 she is right behind you how likely is for your mother to find us?"