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Still, I pressed my lips to his and whispered, “I’m mussed. You can finish the job later. You promised me Chicken in Brioche.”
He pulled back with a grumble, “Never let it be said I don’t fulfill my pregnant wife’s cravings.”
I laughed. “Not sure I’ve reached the cravings part of things yet.”
Finn stunned me by dipping down to press a kiss to my still barely-there belly. “Wonder if it’ll be ice cream like it was with Jake.”
Warmth filled me. “You remember that?”
“Not like I could forget.” His eyes twinkled as he led me into the restaurant, his hand at the small of my back.
The heat of him there set off a slow burn ache in my core that didn’t dissipate when the maître d’ spotted us and guided us to the bar, nervously saying, “Your table will be ready in two minutes, sir.”
Reaching for his other hand, I squeezed it, knowing he wouldn’t like being kept waiting, and the guy looked suitably nervous.
“Fucking nerve,” he bitched under his breath when the maître d’ scuttled away.
“You’re too used to everyone treating you like you’re a god,” I chided, amused. I’d spent most of my life as a non-entity, but Finn was very much used to the perks of association with the O’Donnellys. “It’s good to come down from Olympus every now and then.”
“Olympus has its perks—”
Before he could continue, his phone rang. I recognized the ringtone and arched a brow. “Aidan Jr.?”
He sighed. “Yeah.”
“Go and answer it. By the time you’re done, we should be able to take a seat.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” I saw the irritation in his expression but he pressed a kiss to my temple, muttering his thanks before he answered the phone and snarled at Aidan, “This had better be fucking good, jackass.”
Before he left, though the background music drowned him out, I managed to hear him mention something about Sullivan, Lucifer and ghosts, and I turned to watch him go in surprise.
Finn wasn’t exactly religious, so why the hell would he be talking about ghosts with Aidan? I knew Sullivan was one of the two Five Pointers who’d turned informant for the Sparrows… was he wishing him to hell?
Finn disappeared quickly into the crowd, and while I watched him go because my husband in a suit was a show worth watching, I turned back once I couldn’t see him any longer and found a server waiting on me to order.
“I’ll have a club soda, please,” I requested with a smile.
In the mirrored wall that was lined with liquor bottles, I had a perfect view of the restaurant.
Verdiwas one of the building’s newer eateries, and I was here for it. I loved fusion cuisine, and this was on the path to getting a Michelin star—at least, according to the magazines I subscribed to.
I saw the man walking toward me in the mirror behind the shelves before he settled at my side. I didn’t say anything, even though he was way too close for comfort, and as the server handed my drink to me, I picked it up with a grateful smile then shifted away, using the move to put some distance between us.
The smell of whiskey was strong on his breath but he didn’t appear intoxicated, and when I looked up, I saw he’d moved even closer.
He was an older man, in his fifties, maybe sixties, and the years had worn badly on him.
He had a full head of silver hair and a beard to match. One look and you’d think Santa, but deep in his eyes, there were a lot of emotions—all of them negative.
Was it ridiculous that I sought out my guards? I hadn't seen them so far but that didn't mean they wouldn't be somewhere in the vicinity.
“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?”
The words didn’t match the strange tempest in his eyes, so I arched a brow at him and shut this down, “My husband does. All the time.”
“You’re married?” He heaved a sigh. “The pretty ones always are.”
I kept my focus averted after that, but in the mirror, I monitored him. He was looking at me. Completely turned to face me.
