“Are all Italian women as gorgeous as you are?”
“There are a million Italian women who look like me, Quinn. t**s, ass, lots of sass. It runs in the gene pool.”
“Hmm. Sounds like I need to book a trip to Italy.” She slaps me on the back, making me chuckle.
“That was a joke.”
She mutters, “Better be.”
“I’m sorry, is this the same person who accused me of being jealous and possessive? Because hello, pot, meet the kettle.”
“I’ll put a bullet in that stupid kettle if you don’t shut up soon.”
My chest shaking with silent laughter, I roll on top of her, brushing her hair off her face.
She glares up at me with flashing eyes.
“My God,” I breathe, staring down at her lovely, livid face. “You’re a fine thing, Mrs. Quinn.”
“And you’re crushing me. How much do
