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“God,” I hissed, shaking my head at the direction of my thoughts before the busser came over and finished the cleaning job for me.
Only then was it time to go back over to him to take his order.
“The breakfast special seems like the safest bet,” he said.
“It really is,” I agreed. “It’s usually that or the grilled cheese for me. How do you want your eggs?”
“Over medium. And here,” he said, passing me the menu, and it took me an embarrassingly long moment to figure out why it was wedged open slightly.
Because the hush money was inside of it.
Since, you know, that was why he was at the diner. The only reason. He wasn’t here to have breakfast. That was just a cover. And he damn sure wasn’t around just to see me.
I needed to get a grip.
“Alright. Great. I’ll be back with your food in a couple of minutes,” I said, forcing that fake customer service smile on my face before walking away.
The next hour or so got unexpectedly busy. Busy enough, in fact, that I almost forgot about my very special guest sitting in the corner booth, drinking cup after cup of coffee, his food long-eaten.
I say almost because I couldn’t seem to make my gaze stop glancing in his direction anytime I found myself behind the counter to get drinks or condiments.
Since coffees were endless, I’d even given him his bill ages ago, and had seen him slip cash into the book, but didn’t push it to the end of the table like most people did when they were looking for you to take it.
I couldn’t help but wonder why the hell he was sticking around. Didn’t mafia men have better things to do with their time than sit in a diner alone, drinking cheap coffee and watching mostly-drunk patrons make fools of themselves?
Unless, of course, he was there because he was watching me, keeping an eye on me, making sure I was as trustworthy as I’d agreed to be when I’d said I would take their hush money.
I felt suddenly very scrutinized, like when the principal would sit in during a class, like someone was nitpicking every little thing I did, reading into it, coming to all the wrong conclusions because of it.
Annoyed with myself, I told the cook and busser that I was just going to run to the ladies’ room, and made my way in that direction, ready to splash some cool water on my face and pull myself together.
I was just turning on the tap when the door flew open.
And there he was.
Now, the normal, healthy reaction to a man barging his way into the women’s bathroom would be fear or surprise, maybe even a little anger.
Was that what my body felt?
No.
No, of course not.
My stupid, confused, clearly entirely too horny body felt… heat.
It bloomed from my core and moved outward until it overtook me completely.
And by the way I felt the flush creep over my cheeks, I was pretty sure it was all over my face.
“What are you doing?” I asked, hearing the breathlessness to my voice, and hoping he would think it was from hobbling across the restaurant to get to the bathroom.
His gaze held mine for a long second before he moved further into the bathroom and stepped behind me.
He said nothing as his gaze found mine in the mirror and his arms went around me.
I swear my breath felt trapped behind my ribcage as his hands went between my breasts and started to undo my buttons.
I should have been pushing him away, objecting, doingsomething. Instead, I was frozen my gaze fixed on his hypnotic eyes as he watched me in the mirror as my bra got more and more exposed, making me wish I’d gone for something cuter than my very basic black t-shirt one.
