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“I’m trying, I really fucking am. And I want you to stay with me. Please.”
He tacks the last word on to twist it into a request, but it’s an order if ever I’ve heard one. And boy, do I know orders.
“You’re not asking.”
“No, I’m not. But I’m putting it as nicely as I can. You’re coming to stay with me.”
The tapping stops as he lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose before returning his hand to the steering wheel.
“Nicolo—”
“This isn’t an argument you’re going to win, and if you do, you’ll lose because I’m betting right now that I’m what’s gonna keep fucking Daddy sending in men to bring you home.” He pauses. “And yes, I know who and what your father is. How’s that for honesty?”
I press my lips together.
“This,” he says, “is getting us nowhere. You know what will?”
“What?” Nicolo pulls the word from me, along with my interest despite myself.
“Helping me work out who might be sending you that shit.”
“I don’t know. I don’t. I wish I did, but I don’t. I only know you and these two women who’ve come into the bar.”
He glances at me as we round a corner, and I know we’re in my neighborhood now. I recognize it. “What about your bosses? People you work with?”
I play over the bar, but there’s nothing there. Everyone is friendly, mostly. And the photo studio . . . well Rhett asked me out once, and when I hesitated, he apologized. I don’t think the grandma who runs the front desk is the stalker type, and I’ve met the apartment building’s owner once.
“Everyone is fine.”
He sighs impatiently. “An enemy of your father?”
I open my mouth and shut it again. “He’s a small fry in the grand scheme, especially here. I think he has dealings on occasion in Texas, but,” I shrug, “I don’t pay attention to that. I try and keep away. I hate that life.”
For long moments he doesn’t respond.
But when he pulls up on the street where I live, he turns off the motor and turns to me, fingers trailing my arm. “Avah . . .”
God, his voice does things to me. The concern and gentleness in his tiger eyes are at odds with the hard planes and angles of his face. He makes my stomach lurch and slide and stokes fires within.
“I’m trying to help, so work with me. Please.”
This time it isn’t a command.
“I guess we can develop some of my photos. See if there’s anything on them? I had things set up to develop, anyway, so . . .”
“Might as well do that before we pack up.”
I grit my teeth as he grins and gets out of the car. He opens my door.
“Move that sweet ass, Avah.”
And I do.
* * *
My heart skitters when we get to my door. The handle turns, and I pull my hand back. I know I locked it.
He leans against the wall and watches me. “Something wrong?”
