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I head over to the little white schoolhouse that sits in the center of town. I needed a quiet place to meet with the team, and while the Hamlet is crawling with family because the gala was just yesterday, there’s no classes today so this place isn’t.
My footsteps echo over the shiny hardwood floors. I take in the sight in front of me and hold in a chuckle. Twenty-four massive, tatted men, dressed mostly in black, standing around the room, arms crossed over their chests, eyeing those child-sized chairs. The ones with the desks attached. Ones they could never manage to fit their bulky, muscular frames into.
I bring my hands together in a clap. “Well, gentlemen, looks like we’ll be standing for this meeting.” I pause my trek into the room, hovering in the middle of the row of desks, eyeing the front of the classroom. There’s a large whiteboard hanging on the wall.
My stomach clenches, thinking of my own school days.
Getting in fights. Getting in trouble. Getting expelled.
“You know what?” I say, looking around at faces that reflect how I feel. Those of us attracted to the family didn’t tend to have stable upbringings. “How about we move this meeting to the kitchen?”
“Hell yes!” someone shouts.
I get a rowdy echo of agreement and applause. “Alright then. Let’s go.”
I lead my crew of men through the field, over to the Hamlet’s ballroom. We go around the back to the rear entrance door that leads to the commercial kitchen. These guys are young, and when they’re not working, they are working out. The brothers are always hungry. We descend upon the place like a family of black ants at a picnic.
Rowan opens the massive fridge, pulling out platters of food that were left over from the party. Rowdy—the one with the long, braided beard who is ninety days sober—starts up the giant-sized coffee machine for the caffeine addicts. He must have chosen hazelnut. I can smell it in the air.
My team’s not officially on duty till the dinner tonight, so I look the other way as a few of them pull out beer from the drink fridge. Alfie’s headful of red hair passes me. I grab his shoulder, eyeing the light beer in his hand. I pull him in for a word of advice. “One and done,” I say before I let him go.
He’s at that age where he wants to push the boundaries and have one more than he should.
“You got it, Cap.” He looks me in my eye and gives me a solid handshake. He joins the other young bucks in the back where they stand around, giving each other shit while they sip at their one allotted beer.
I’m generous. I give them a half hour to eat, drink, and be merry. After all, their next ten weeks belong to me. Twelve-hour shifts. Seven days a week.
I leave them to clean up, heading over to Paige and Bronson’s for dinner. Paige greets me with a kiss on each cheek. “You look so handsome. Thank you for coming.”
I’m surrounded by Paisley’s mom, dad, and brothers. Paisley sits opposite me, so if I look up, I see the cherry-red stain of wine on her lips. All I can think of is kissing her.
If I look to my left, one of her brothers is there and I feel an instant pang of guilt for what I’ve done with his sister. Or not done. Or half-done.
It’s confusing.
I’m in a strange mood at dinner. Tension, invisible to anyone present other than her and me.
Every so often our eyes meet over the table and one of us looks away.
When she came downstairs in my house wearing nothing but that T-shirt, I had to wonder…
Did she not want to put on her sweaty clothes?
Or was she tempting me?
The vision of her coming into the kitchen fills my mind, the T-shirt almost see-through, her nipples pert against the fabric, the hem of it brushing the tops of her thighs. The term breathtaking comes to mind, but even it doesn’t do her justice. Remembering how she looked entering my kitchen, I feel the weight of her on my lap again, my arms tight around her while she’s grinding her ass against me.
I shift my weight in my chair, sliding further under the table, hiding my arousal. Damn. This is going to be a very long dinner to get through.
If I look to Paisley’s left, I see her mom, Paige. And all I can think of is my childlike crush. And how now when I look at her, all I see is Paisley’s mother. I think I’ll take to calling her Mrs. Bachman from now on.
And dear God. If I look to my right.
Bronson. Head of the family. My direct boss.
And the father of the young woman who I’m having the most indecent thoughts about. I stare at my plate, suddenly fascinated by a piece of lettuce, poking it with the prongs of my fork.
“Paolo. Isn’t that right?”
