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“Do you want me to stop?”
I look up at him, and after a moment, I shake my head.
“It’s disconcerting, but it’s — nice. You — understand me.”
“I think so. I hope so. You want to know what I meant about accounting was in the stars. Something in your eyes changed when I said that. You want to know if my crime family ordered me to be an accountant.”
I freeze. That’s exactly what I wondered.
He slips his arm through mine and steers me toward the crosswalk. While we wait for the light to change, I turn to look at him.
“No one told me I had to become one. I like it. I know plenty of people think it must be boring, but I enjoy knowing that I help my family. Like I said, the numbers come easily to me. I can use my computer skills for forensic accounting when I’m valuating potential buyouts or mergers. I don’t think tax law is all that fascinating, but I like the puzzle of figuring out how to maximize our earnings within the letter of the law.”
I can only nod. It’s out there that he belongs to a crime family. He said it, and he never tried to hide it. I’ve obviously known all along, and I’m standing next to him, so I must be okay with it. When Laura met Maks, his life scared the shit out of me for Laura’s sake. I was terrified she’d get killed. She almost did. Until Maks, I’d never known a man could be so protective without being overbearing.
He never stops Laura from being Laura. Just the opposite. He encourages her and loves her just the way she is. But he’s careful. He makes sure she and their twins are always guarded. He set what I think are reasonable limits, and Laura does too. I’ve watched them since they’ve been together over three years now. He’s in the mafia, but he makes Laura happier than I’ve ever seen her. She’s figured out how to live with what he does, so I don’t judge.
We cross the street, and Lorenzo holds the door open for me. It’s a cheery little place, and the guy behind the counter smiles at us. I smile back, but something passes between Lorenzo and this guy that I don’t understand. Lorenzo rests his hand at my lower back, but he’s not actually touching me. He’s half standing behind me now, and it makes me feel — I don’t know. He’s gotta be almost a foot taller than me at five-feet-four. His shoulders are broad while his waist and hips are narrow. He’s a perfect inverted triangle. With him standing behind me, I want to lean back. Let him wrap his arms around me and shield me from the entire world.
This makes no sense. If I did that, then it really would be body snatchers who possessed me. But it just feels so right. Intuition? Animal magnetism? Lust? All the above. I definitely feel lust. I’d like him to kiss me tonight, and I’d like to fuck before the week is out. But this is different. Which means I don’t know how to explain it. Which means I’m not sure I like it. I like things that make sense. I enjoy having a reasonable and rational explanation for things. None of what I’ve done tonight is like the usual me. It’s exciting but highly questionable.
“Piccolina, do you still want a chai?”
“Yes, please.”
“What size would you like, miss?”
Zombies and body snatchers. I lean against Lorenzo and grin as I lock eyes with him.
“Large.”
He knows I’m not just talking about a spicy tea. His arm wraps around my waist, and he leans down to whisper to me, ignoring the guy behind the counter.
“You might want a large, but I like things that come in small packages.”
He straightens and orders a chai, too. He pays before I can even think to reach for my wallet. When I do, he shoots me a look that makes my toes curl. It’s a warning, but it’s so fucking hot. He doesn’t let go of me when we walk to the back of the shop and find two armchairs. He pulls mine closer to his, so our legs are touching when we sit.
“What happened back there?”
“What do you mean?”
I know he knows what I mean. I wait. He watches me before he looks at the barista.
“It was very clear you are not my sister. He was checking you out right in front of me.”
“We both have dark hair.”
He leans forward, tucking hair behind my ear, before he whispers to me.
“There is no way he misunderstood your arm through mine as something brotherly. It’s one thing to appreciate how beautiful you are. It’s another to stare at your — figure — in front of someone who is clearlywithyou.”
“He wasn’t staring.”
He shoots me a look that says don’t be naïve. I mean, the guy looked at my chest for a moment longer than he probably should have. But I didn’t think he meant any harm by it. He probably didn’t, yet I can see Lorenzo’s point. If a woman were behind the counter and stared at his dick for a moment too long, I’d be ready to claw her fucking eyes out. It’s rude to check someone out who’s clearly with a date or a partner. I get what he means.
“You think I’m beautiful?”
Why is that the question that comes out of my mouth? His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he leans in again.
