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“Why do you want to hold my hand and kiss me?” She had to know.
“Because I want to. It feels nice. Doesn’t it feel nice to you?”
“But Michelle—”
“Michelle’s not here.”
“You’re not breaking up with her, are you?”
“I haven’t really thought about it. We’re not married. I’m not being unfaithful.”
“I think you are. I think you and she have an understanding.”
“Maybe she has an understanding. I don’t.”
“She thinks she’s marrying you, remember?”
“I might. I might not. Right now, I don’t want to think about Michelle. I want to walk with you in the alley. I want to hold your hand. I want to put my arms around you and kiss you.”
“Wow.” Her word came out in a breathy rasp. The Italian Stallion a romantic?
He took her hand and tugged her along. “Come on.”
They walked behind the mini mall into the back alley that was deserted, and a little scary. But no fear seized her. Brett was big and strong and would protect her.
He held her hand, and then, when she least expected it, pushed her against the back of the store building and crushed his mouth to hers.
Her lips tingled, her heart raced. The kiss consumed her, became her. Nothing existed in the world except her and Brett and the mating of their mouths.
Until the stark chill of a blade slid against the warm flesh of her neck.
“Nice piece of ass, Falcone. Care to share?”
The voice slithered over Kathryn like snake venom. Two muscled thugs pulled Brett from her while the third pressed the cool steel into her flesh.
“What the hell do you guys want?” Brett demanded.
“The same as always, Falcone. You know what we’re after.”
“And I’ve told you before. You’ve got the wrong Falcone. I’m Julian Falcone’s son. You’re looking for Brad Falcone, Angelo Falcone’s son. No relation.”
“Bullshit.”
“No lie.”
He glanced at Kathryn. She swallowed audibly.
“At least let her go.”
“Not a chance.”
“She’s a Zurakowsky. No relation to the Family, honest.”
Kathryn closed her eyes and prayed. What a time for him to bring up her Polish name. But if it worked, so help her, she’d give thanks the rest of her days for being the brunt of Pollock jokes.
“We have a message for your old man,” the man holding the knife to Kathryn said.
“His old man is home in bed,” she said, shaking. “He’s a construction worker, for God’s sake. A construction worker on disability.”
