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Hudson unlocked the office, proving he wasn’t some rando. Then he propped the door open with an anchor-like stopper, which made me feel even better.
At the sight of all the framed photos on one wall, mostly of men and women in uniform, as well as of naval warships, I let go of the last bit of anxiety about being alone with a stranger. “Navy?” I asked as he went to a small bar cart by his desk.
He tossed a look over his shoulder and nodded.
I smiled; then my gaze landed on the bookshelf filled with colorful spines. “And you’re a reader, too?”
“That I am.” He swapped his glass for club soda.
“The perfect man,” I teased.
“Far from perfect, I’m afraid,” he returned in a low, rumbly voice.
As he dabbed some of the club soda on a napkin, I decided to shoot my sister a quick text to buy myself some time before Natalia came looking for me.
“I take it you’re a reader?” He offered the napkin, and I set my phone and clutch on his desk to accept it.
“A real-life Belle searching for a Beast with a library to share,” I said, feeling slightly silly until my words produced a devastatingly handsome smile from him.
And yet, no pitter-patter in my chest.
“Better yet, the Beast after he’s a man again.” With literary talk from a muscular, handsome man, how was my pulse not jumping?
I went still when a rush of heat climbed up my body, the little hairs on the back of my neck stood, and I followed Hudson’s gaze to see the only man capable of provoking such a reaction.
Enzo.
“She’s Natalia Romano’s sister,” Enzo said in a gravelly voice, and he propped his palms on the exterior doorframe.
“I didn’t know,” Hudson returned in an apologetic-sounding voice.
“I need the room.” It was an order, not a request from Enzo, and I looked at Hudson, surprised to see him nodding without question.
“Have a good evening.” Hudson tipped his head goodbye, and Enzo stepped aside to allow him to exit.
Then Enzo kicked aside the anchor, and the door thudded shut.
“What just happened? Why’d he leave like that?”
Enzo’s eyes shifted to the stain on my tank top. “He’s a friend. Do you think I’d let you and your sister hang out somewhere that I didn’t—”
“That you didn’t what?” I began dabbing at the stain, remembering why I was in the office.
“Deem safe,” he bit back. “What were you thinking going into a room alone with some guy you don’t know?”
“You just said he’s your friend. Based on the military photos, I figured I was in good hands.”
“Good hands, huh?” he growled out, and for whatever reason, something I’d said had further pissed him off. “You came in here before you knew that bit of information,” he pointed out, and then he began speaking in Italian.
My parents were born in Italy, but they never taught us the language, and I had a feeling it was so they could talk in private without us knowing what they were saying.
Enzo had moved to the US when he was six, and clearly, he was still fluent, even though his accent seemed to show up only when he was upset. Like now.
Enzo stalked closer to me. One angry step after the other until he was within arm’s reach of me. “I can’t protect you if you go down dark halls with men you don’t know. What in God’s name were you planning to do with him?”
“First of all,” I said, taking a defensive tone and stance, “the bathroom was down the dark hall, and I had to pee. And secondly, he spilled his drink on me and offered the club soda.” I waved the napkin, hating that it looked like a little white flag of surrender.
Enzo might have intimidated people, but I wouldn’t let him scare me. Of course, my experience with “bad boys” and “heartbreakers” was limited to fiction.
