Page 153 of Lorenzo

“The food is good.”

“You sound biased.”

I am.

My family owns the restaurant, though I decide she does not need that information yet. If I tell her, she will accuse me of using family resources to get food delivered after closing.

She would be correct.

“They will deliver,” I say.

“Are you planning to threaten them?”

“No.”

“Vaguely intimidate them?”

“No.”

“Use the great and terrifying Conti name?”

“I intend to make a phone call.”

She watches me, still suspicious.

I stroke my hand down her back. “Do you want food, or do you want to interrogate me?”

“Both, apparently.”

“You can conduct the interrogation after you eat.”

She considers this.

“All right.”

She shifts beneath the covers, then grimaces.

“Actually, first a shower, I think.”

I grin.

She shoots me a look. “Don't look so pleased with yourself.”

“I am pleased with myself.”

“Ugh, men,” she says, pushing away from me.

My satisfaction deepens.

“You didn't seem to have an issue with us not too long ago.”

“That was temporary insanity.” She throws the comforter back and sits up.

Her hair is tangled around her shoulders. Faint marks color the skin along her throat and breasts. The sight of them stirs something possessive and deeply satisfying inside me.

She catches me looking.

“Stop staring.”