THE MAFIA AND THE ARTIST
That was a sobering thought.
He touched his fingertips to her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Should I not have asked?”
“No, asking is good,” she said, and gave him a shy smile. “I’m just not exactly at my hottest at the moment.”
“Quote me something.”
She gave him an odd look and then laughed, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “‘Happiness depends upon ourselves.’ Aristotle.”
“See?” He whispered, leaning in to kiss at her neck. “Hearing you say that is so incredibly hot.”