Bosom Bodies (Mina's Adventures) Read online

  “Do you need help in there?” she asked.

  “You can decide how many slices you want.”

  They sat on the high kitchen stools, shared delightful pizza and chilled sparkling wine. Music played in the background. It sounded like it came form the bedroom. Mina could hum the classical piece in her head, it sounded that familiar, but she couldn’t think of the title and she wasn’t about to ask Diego, either.

  “This is the best pizza I’ve had since coming to America.”

  “You still call it America?” Diego smiled.

  “Yeah, so what? Where did you find it?” She had already checked out the box, but it was a plain white cardboard box with no business logo on it.

  “What’s with all the questions? I have a friend who owns a restaurant and he lets me go into his kitchen and play. That’s all.”

  “Maybe so, but this is the way they make pizza where I come from. You didn’t just dream it up.” It seemed like every time anything to do with Italy came up, Diego’s mood changed. Better pick a different subject. “If you spoke to DeFiore, he must have told you about the pink dumbbells.”

  “How come you didn’t mention the dumbbells when I asked if you had something belonging to Ginger?”

  “First, I forgot about it, but mostly everyone asked about something that Ginger gave to me. Ginger never did give me the dumbbells. That’s why. Oh, God, I can’t think about the way she died. It’s making me sick again. I don’t care what DeFiore says. She was a good person. She wanted to help poor children in Africa.”

  “Let’s not talk about it then,” he said.

  The atmosphere went from warm and cozy to cold and distant. Maybe it was a sign from above. Pack your stuff and go back to your place, away from temptation, safe from betrayal.

  They finished eating in silence.

  In spite of all her good intentions, Mina kept pushing fate. “Do you ever take off your boots?” she asked.

  He turned, head cocked to one side, staring directly at her, his eyes pulling her in. “Why do I feel like this is a trick question?” he asked. “Let’s see—I definitely take them off when I shower, and when I sleep in my own bed.”

  “How about when you sleep in someone else’s bed?” They had moved across the room from each other, Diego with his back to the brightness of the kitchen, Mina in the living room, basking in the rosy dimness of the silk sconces.

  “It would depend on whose bed it is,” his voice a tad husky.

  She felt a stab of heat rush through her and knew he must’ve noticed. Maledizione. A phone rang in the guest room. Diego moved to answer, keeping his eyes on her in a deliberate way. She wished she could disappear into the floor. Maybe she should clean up the kitchen, or gather her few personal things and go to sleep in her own bed. Instead, she walked to the patio door, lifted the dark drapes and discovered it was pouring.

  Euphoria gushed through her the way it did back home at the sight of first snow. In Southern California with rain as unforeseen as first snow in Venice, Mina couldn’t resist the siren song of the falling drops. She slid the door open and walked onto the wet patio. Arms stretched wide, eyes shut and head lifted into the weeping sky, she let the cold rain drench her, soak her like a second skin.

  “What’s gotten into you?” She heard Diego’s words at the same time as he put his arm around her waist, practically carried her inside his living room and closed the patio door without letting go of her.

  “Hey!” Her back against his torso, she elbowed his ribs. “Let me go, party pooper.”

  “You’re all wet. You’re going to catch something, and you’re not even supposed to be out there, an open target.”

  “An open target? Oh, no, I told you—the bad people stole the dumbbells. They got what they were looking for. I’m free, no need to worry about me.” His arms relaxed and she turned to face him. A wide, wet spot marked the place where he held her against his chest. She rubbed her hands over it. “Oh, Diego, you are so good to me, I don’t deserve all your kindness.” Water dripped from her clothes to her shoes and the floor. She could imagine what her hair looked like, but right this moment she didn’t care. She nudged closer to Diego, trying to read his face.

  He stepped back, “You need to get out of those wet clothes before you get sick.”

  “I can do that. No problem.” She kicked off her shoes with such enthusiasm that the right one went airborne and fell on the coffee table with a thud. He rolled his eyes and stifled a smile. She unbuttoned her wet blouse. It wasn’t easy; the buttons were slippery.

  Now he smiled openly. “I’ll get a towel,” he said and walked away.

  How dare he?

  The man didn’t appreciate an improvised striptease? His loss. The buttons undone, she furiously removed the shirt and dropped it on the floor. Her jeans had barely joined the shirt when Diego came around the corner with a bath towel. He stopped in his tracks, and she watched him gulp. Mina asked herself if her choice of lingerie in the morning was in preparation of this precise moment. Regardless, there she stood in her pure silk white bikini panties and push up bra, both with only a hint of lace. The silk habit she picked up from her mother, and she was aware of the consequence of wetness on white silk. She could read the effect on Diego’s face. Flustered at first, avoiding her eyes, he unfolded the towel and attempted to wrap it around her. With a sharp giggle she freed herself and pressed the weight of her small frame against him. Caught unprepared, he teetered, backed into the wall. Mina leaned on him, and then stood on her toes to reach his face.

  “You smell of rain,” he said, his lips on her forehead.

  She breathed against his chest, stretched again to find his mouth, and her nostrils filled with his scent of mountain pine. His arms went around her back, drawing her closer. Could he feel the heat pounding beneath the flimsy smoothness of the silk? His heart hammered against her breasts, he lifted her and carried her into the bedroom. When her body slid against the coziness of the sheets, she felt the warmth of his tongue on her neck and heard the thud of his boots hitting the floor.

  Chapter 16

  Was it true that the more sex you had, the more you wanted—or needed? Not that she’d had an exorbitant amount of sex in her life, but she’d been thinking about it a lot when Diego was around. Or maybe it was a coincidence because during the night hours, her senses seemed to come alive, and Diego could be easily described as a nocturnal being. It was morning now.

  The morning after.

  No need to turn and check, every inch of her body sensed his presence next to her. It was as if Diego exuded sexuality, and her only desire was to catch the next surge.

  “Ciao, bella,” his lips on the nape of her neck. Goose bumps raced for territorial rights over her spine. Mina couldn’t remember the last time a man caused her to heat up in a flash like that. Must be his sweet Italian pillow talk—or not. Memories of her time with Brian crossed her mind, flash videos of a tender past. Go away. She turned and slipped her arms around his torso. Because he was shorter than Brian, she found an effortless comfort in the entwining of their bodies. They joined together like the halves of a whole, like hands in prayer.

  “What are you thinking about?” He nibbled on her ear.

  “Stuff…” Her hands stroked the length of his back.

  “Stuff? Try again.”

  “What’s on your back?” Her palm found a rough spot. She moved the hand on a wider circle, two, not really a bump, more like a scar, a round scar. She rubbed her finger on it, her eyes studying his expression. He shook his head, hid his face in the curve of her neck. “Mina, Mina, you and your questions…what does it feel like?” Sweetness in his voice belied the shortness of the remark.

  Mina lifted herself on her elbow and decided to take a good look at Diego’s back.

  “Oh, Mio Dio, Diego, it looks like—like—someone shot you—twice. Is that it? Is it what happened?”

  Without warning, he flipped around and his back now rested on the bed, Mina’s hand landed on his ch
est. “Long time ago,” he said, “not much to talk about. As you can see, I’m here and all is well.”

  She looked at him in disbelief. “That’s it? You act like it was just another day at the office. Exactly what is it that you do for a living?”

  “Whatever it takes,” he said, and this time his voice had no sweetness.

  “I need coffee.” She slid off the bed and went to the kitchen.

  Nuda come un verme. Naked as a worm was one of her grandmother’s favorite quotes.

  She couldn’t help but notice the guest room door was shut again. Her instinct urged her to try the knob, but she resisted and went into the kitchen. Coffee should cure her pissy mood or to be more precise, her arousal fogged mind. The smell of sex and sweat lingered on her skin. Of all the stupid things she did in her young life, this was a real winner. She remembered her last conversation with Brian, “I’ve been sleeping in my neighbor’s bed.” It appeared she could have a career in the world of mediums and charlatans because she could predict the future. She was making enough racket slamming cabinet doors and drawers to wake up Snow White and all her dwarfs. The empty bottle of Prosecco was still on the counter. She dumped it in the trash. Diego was watching her from across the room. She hadn’t heard him coming. He looked like he just stepped out of the shower. A three-minute shower? He wore jeans, no shoes. In his hands he held a white shirt that looked like it was fresh from the cleaners. Wet hair drooping and curling around his face. She could smell the pine-scented soap from the other side of the kitchen. It made her feel dirty and cheap and more turned on than before. A great way to start a Sunday.

  “Care to share why you are abusing the kitchen cabinets? I could hear the slamming all the way to the bedroom.” He was right; she felt embarrassed.

  “Coffee, where do you keep the coffee?”

  When he shook his head, a lock of hair fell over his eyes, so cute, so tender.

  Diego handed her his shirt, “Here, put this on. I’ll make coffee.”

  “This is clean.” She tried to return the shirt.

  “I have more clean shirts, only one Mina. Get out of the kitchen.” He smiled.

  He was too nice, made her feel uncomfortable. She liked him more horizontal than sentimental. Only one Mina? Not good. She headed back to the bedroom. From the entangled web of Barbara, Ginger and Angelina’s mess right into another mess without even coming up for air. Well done. And this one she couldn’t blame on anyone but herself. Maybe she should take Adams’s advice and go to Europe. Right now she needed to get back to her own place. She showered and dried herself in the big, fluffy towels in Diego’s bathroom, slipped on her underwear from the day before and decided to wear the clean white shirt after all. She could have it washed, pressed and returned to Diego. Might as well bite the bullet, go get some coffee then pack and move back home.

  She heard her phone ring—Brian? She rushed to the living room and picked up on the third ring. “Hello.”

  “Mina, good morning.” DeFiore? On Sunday? “ I want to make sure you get your car tomorrow. Don’t let what happened with Angelina worry you, okay?”

  “What happened with Angelina? Are you talking about the hot cocoa and…”

  “Damn it, Mina, where are you?”

  “Over at Diego’s, why?”

  “I called him last night, about Angelina.” Mina remembered Diego answering his phone at about the same time she decided to go dancing in the rain. Maledizione. No wonder he didn’t talk about the phone call from DeFiore, she distracted him. Distracted him…the understatement of the year.

  “When is your boyfriend getting home?” DeFiore asked.

  “Never mind my boyfriend, I want to know about Angelina and let’s not forget you are the one who forced me to stay at Diego’s.” Forced her, she liked that, perfect antidote to guilt. “Oops, my coffee is ready, I’ll ask Diego about Angelina and you have a lovely Sunday. Ciao.” She hung up on DeFiore. Double damn.

  “Nice shirt.” Diego had been holding two steaming mugs of coffee inches from her nose the whole time. He handed her one, sat the other mug on the coffee table and walked away before she could say a word. When he returned, he wore a shirt, baby blue, her favorite color. Focus Mina, focus. “I guess you have a message for me regarding—Angelina?”

  He sat next to her, picked up his coffee, leaned back and crossed his bare feet on the coffee table, “She was arrested yesterday.” He sipped his brew.

  “Arrested? All right. Tell me more, how did it happen? Did she resist? Where did they find her?”

  “Margo, your friend from West Coast Software, parked her car in perfect view of the complex surveillance camera. When Angelina and a young boy threw a brick through the rear window of Margo’s car and ran off with the dumbbells, they were caught in the act by the cam. With DeFiore showing up less than five minute after the fact, and a good pic of Angelina’s license plate, he had them picked up in within an hour.”

  “Angelina has a car?”

  Diego put his hand under Mina’s chin and forced her to face him. “Are you for real? I’m telling you about Angelina breaking into your friend’s car and stealing Ginger’s precious dumbbells, and you are concerned about Angelina owning a vehicle?”

  “Because she had me believe she didn’t and needed a ride from me. Okay, I see your point. So what happened then?” She stopped herself short of calling Angelina a liar. Mina, the cheater.

  “The kid is a minor who did the deed for twenty bucks and has nothing to do with anything aside being a stupid kid. DeFiore had the dumbbells X-rayed hoping to get some answers, and…”

  “And? Come on, you are teasing me.”

  “And nothing. They are plain dumbbells with a coat of fancy pink paint.”

  “No gold, diamonds, drugs?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “What now?” she asked.

  “DeFiore is hoping Angelina’s associates are going to pull up tents and move elsewhere before she spills her guts in exchange for a deal. He is also convinced they are going to let you be.”

  “Huh, you know what’s bugging me? How did Angelina find out about the dumbbells? I don’t recall talking about it, so someone else must have known. You think maybe the gym owner?”

  “No, I think it’s much closer to home.”

  “To whose home?”

  “Mina, think really hard.” He seemed to have moved closer to her. She felt his body heat through the shirt fabric on her arm. “Angelina went to retrieve the dumbbells the minute she got the info. That’s why she did such a poor job, no planning. Who did you talk to between your arrival at West Coast Software at noon and the time you spoke to DeFiore?”

  “I spoke to Margo on the phone. She was in bed. I said hello to Paco, and then got in the car with Adams to go see DeFiore. Well, I spoke to you in the morning, but not about the pink dumbbells.” He rolled his eyes and scooted a little closer. “At the police department it was like a deserted city. Adams chatted with some old cop. They looked at photos in the cop’s office, and I sat staring at the clock on the wall. Then I got lucky, heard Sam laughing and went into her office for a while until she got a call or something and—Sam—I…” She turned to look at Diego, his eyes on her, sucking her in. “Oh, my God, I told Sam.” The simple truth hit her hard. She used her right hand to stop the shaking of her left holding the mug.

  Diego took the coffee cup from her hands, set it on the table, then put his arm around her shoulders. “Mina, it’s okay. You didn’t know.”

  “Sam? She is a policewoman. I trusted her and—oh, my God, now I remember, about Ginger. She spoke to me as if Ginger was alive and well, and she wanted to know if I returned the dumbbells to Ginger. Ginger was already dead, a horrible death. Why Sam? What’s wrong with her?”

  Diego held her, moved the box of tissues closer and handed her a handful. She blew her nose; she felt like dirt. So much for good intentions. God was punishing her.

  “Oh, my God, where is Sam now? Is she in prison? DeFiore arrested her? Is
that why he is in such a bad mood? Maybe he liked her a lot, huh?” Why was Diego so calm? Did he already know all of this? Was he a good cop or a bad cop?

  “I don’t know where Sam is, they need solid proof before they accuse her of being dirty. I’m glad you remember the conversation. You need to share with DeFiore. And you were right about Ginger. She was a good person. Barbara used her. Ginger grew up in foster homes. That’s why she wanted to help African orphans, and that’s how she had connections in that country. Barbara convinced her to use the seven hundred and fifty thousands dollars she stole to buy blood diamonds. I assume she promised Ginger she would give her a cut to use for the orphans project. Perhaps Ginger didn’t totally trust Barbara and wanted to make sure all the details were in place before she turned over the diamonds. That’s where you come in, except you don’t have anything or don’t know that you have it. Regardless. Be glad for Ginger’s merciful death.”

  “Merciful death? What cruel person are you? She was a beautiful, healthy person, she didn’t need to die.” Mina sat up and moved away from the couch, she felt like the whole world had gone mad. Merciful death? Honestly?

  She needed air; she was suffocating. Europe looked better by the minute. Mina slid open the patio door like she did the evening before and walked outside. The sky was blue, the color of Diego’s shirt. The color of Brian’s eyes. She had it coming. Whatever was going to happen, she asked for it. Her grandmother was right. God was punishing her. Maybe she should go to mass. She didn’t even know where there was a Catholic church in Newport Beach. And Christmas was around the corner.

  The rain had left a false sense of cleanliness in the air. She breathed deeply. What now? She revisited in her mind all the bits and pieces she learned from Diego. He said diamonds. He never ever mentioned diamonds in any specific way before, just now. And DeFiore got mad when she said she was at Diego’s. Maybe DeFiore no longer trusted him. Maybe something happened. When Diego reached over and touched her shoulder, she jumped.