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Karma
I have been transported to some strange, alternate reality. That is the only reason I can imagine for why I am sitting here, at the breakfast counter of the kitchen of this manor on an island somewhere off the coast of Italy…watching a Mafia Capo, clad in only gray sweatpants and an apron, cooking at the stovetop.
OMG! That's so damn hot. His broad back is to me and I can’t take my gaze off the play of muscle, the shift of those sculpted planes under his skin as he bustles around the space. He pours out the pancake batter onto one skillet, while in another, he cracks eggs. On a third pan, he’s frying bacon and on the fourth burner, he has hash browns sizzling. OMG. My head spins as I watch him manage all four dishes at the same time, and not lose a step. He wipes his hand on the apron… Did I already mention? Yes, the man is wearing a freakin’ apron… And honestly, he looks too damn sexy… Gah! My mouth waters, and it’s not for the food.
I must have made a noise because he smirks at me over his shoulder, "You all right over there?"
I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a gurgle. Damn! I reach for the glass of water on the table in front of me, and take a sip to clear my throat. Then scowl back at him, "Of course, I am."
A strand of hair falls across his forehead and he brushes it away. the gesture is so familiar...so very Mika. My heart stutters, and I can't take my gaze off of him.
"You sound like you have a lot on your mind." His grin widens. No doubt, the fact that I am staring at him is inflating his already inflated ego. Jerkass!
I carefully place the glass of water back on the table, then meet his gaze, "I was just wondering how you managed to get all of those clothes, and all in my size, in the closet before I first arrived? Did you order them on your way here, after you knocked me out?"
"I simply pressed down on the carotid artery on either side of your neck, and you lost consciousness."
"Thanks for the medical lesson." I scowl. "If you don’t want to tell me about how you acquired the clothes for me—"
"Yes."
I frown. "What do you mean, yes?"
"Yes, I ordered them on the phone to have them delivered before we arrived at the island, while you were unconscious."
"You had all of those clothes, shoes, and underwear delivered in a few hours?" I blink. "How did you manage that?"
He stares at me and I huff, "Yeah, of course, money can solve anything." I hold his gaze, "And what about the shampoo and shower gel in the bathroom?" I tip up my chin, "Did you order that too? How did you know what fragrance I prefer?"
"Your scent, Beauty," his lips twist, "it's a combination of moonflowers and your essence. It's uniquely you... I found the most highly-rated sources and bought them for you."
Heat flushes my cheeks. Why the hell does that feel so intimate? After everything he's done to me, the fact that he accurately identified the fragrance of the shampoo I use should be the least of my worries. I shuffle my feet as another thought strikes me, "So, does this mean that you had already decided that you were going to—"
"Keep you? Play with you? Marry you?" He raises a shoulder, "Not consciously. All I knew was that I wasn't going to let go of you in a hurry."
I blink rapidly. What the hell does he mean by that? He isn't telling me anything I didn’t already know and yet, these words seem very close to a confession of...something. Emotions? Feelings?
Nah, the Capo doesn't feel all that. All he means is that he isn't letting go of me until he gets what he wants from me. Yeah, I lean back in my seat. That's what it means.
My heart flutters and I rub at my chest. Please, please, don't tell me that my stupid heart condition is deciding now is the time to surface again. Not after I've been fine all these years, too. The sensation subsides and I blow out a breath.
He grabs a few slices of bread, pops them in the toaster, then turns to me, "I assume you like your eggs sunny side up."
I blink, then nod. I’m about to ask him how he guessed, but frankly, at this point, it doesn’t matter. He’s definitely going to have some dumbass explanation about it, and it’s not like I want to know, anyway. I mean, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and in this case, it’s in the delicious breakfast that he serves up not ten minutes later. He places a plate piled with pancakes and drizzled with syrup, while on another plate, there are two eggs, sunny side up, with toast, hash browns, and bacon, which he sets down in front of me.
"Um, who is all this food for?"
"You?"
He grins and his face lights up. Oh, dear god, when he smiles like that, he’s way too attractive. The bandage over his sternum is a stark contrast to the rest of his sculpted, tanned chest. And I can’t take my gaze off it as he sits down in the chair opposite me.
"It doesn’t hurt," he murmurs. "You didn’t hurt me… Much."
"I don’t know if that’s good or bad." I fight the urge to apologize, then scowl back at him. "I did intend to cause you harm, you know?"
"No, you didn’t." He reaches for the Moka—the Italian version of a coffee pot—and pours out the coffee he’s freshly brewed, some into my espresso cup, then some for himself.
