Page 49 of Unraveled

“Some people do say the Guzzi blood is made of nothing but gold, luck, and dirt.”

“Who are these people?”

He only grinned.

Cara finally met his gaze then, holding firm. “So, a club is where you decided to come after you get released from the hospital then? Not … home, or—”

“To you.”

His voice turned lower, cool and curious at the same time.

“You don’t have to come to me. That’s not what I meant or what I said.”

“But would you have liked me to?” Gian asked.

Cara reached up to ghost her fingertips along the discoloration on his cheek and temple. “That looks like it hurts.”

“Not a lot. Answer my question.”

“Why a club?” she asked instead.

“Dio, you are difficult when you want to be. Do you know that?”

Cara smiled. “I’ve been told. Why a club?”

Gian gestured over his shoulder. “Someone thought I needed a drink, I couldn’t refuse, given a lot of the shit that’s happened over the past few weeks with the family. I’ve got enough problems, without making a certain group feel like I’m shunning them.”

“I don’t understand a word you said.”

“Yeah, I know, but I like that you’re not all that interested in those semantics of my life, anyway.”

Cara let out a shaky exhale, and dropped his gaze. “This—tonight—freaked me out a little bit.”

“I can tell. You didn’t have to come running, though. I was fine, as far as that goes.”

“I was gone before I even knew what was happening, so …”

Gian chuckled.

That was all Cara got—one of his husky laughs—before he grabbed her waist, pulled her in close, and kissed her fast. The bruising force of his mouth crashing against hers took her breath away, and all that remaining fear and worry stopped, just like that. His hands slid up her sides and cupped under her jaw while his tongue darted into her mouth and gave her a taste of the bourbon he’d been drinking.

Cara felt dazed-like, when Gian finally pulled away.

Breathless.

Stupid.

Spun.

“I knew this would look good,” he said.

“Huh?”

His thumbs slid down over her throat, hooking under the delicate lace of the black choker he had sent to her the day before. “This here, it looks perfect, mon ange.”

“It does have a certain appeal,” she admitted.

“There was a white one—”