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He inclines his head. “I’ll take care of it, sir.”
“Thank you, Hansen.”
“Will we be returning to Briar House?”
I’m about to tell him I want to go to my condo but change my mind when the image of Carina waiting for me in bed pops into my head.
I hop onto my bike, feeling suddenly too far from home as I recall her wetness covering my fingers. Sure she’s ready for me, I rev the engine and ride as fast as the Harley will go, completely unconcerned about the guards I’m leaving in my dust.
However, when I arrive at the house, I don’t find Carina naked in my bed like I ordered her to be. Instead, she’s in the kitchen, sitting at the counter with a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, reading the cereal box in front of her.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She whirls on the barstool, coughing. “Shit!” Wiping her arm across her face, she coughs again. “You scared me. What the hell? Are you on stealth mode or something?”
I go to the counter and grab the cereal box. “This is what Sofia eats. I got it for her when she was here for the funeral.”
“Is it okay that I’m eating it?” she asks, glancing at it.
“Not if it’s your breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
Shrugging, she takes another bite, through which she says, “I don’t cook.”
“You work at two different diners.”
“As a waitress.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. Then I snatch the bowl from her and toss it in the sink.
“Hey!” she protests. “I’m still hungry. In case you forgot, we fucked all night. I need the energy.”
Washing my hands, I glare at her. “That’s not food. Sit.”
She glares back. “Why?”
“Dammit, woman, can’t you just obey me for once?Sit,” I order.
With a huff, she drops back onto the stool. “Fine.”
“Do you like filet mignon?”
At the question, she perks up. “I never get to eat that.”
I go to the fridge and take out the medallions that were purchased yesterday for Nan to make. Grinning, I show them to her.
“You’re in luck. I’m an excellent chef.” Then I move to stand behind her and whisper near her ear, “I’ll make sure you have plenty of energy tonight.”
18
CARINA
“How do you like your meat?” Luca asks.
We’re in the formal dining room, sitting at opposite ends of the long table meant for fancy dinner parties. I suppose this could be a party. Of two. Casual attire, not fancy, since he won’t let me wear anything but his T-shirts.
He cuts a sliver of his tender meat, stabs it with the knife, and slips it into his mouth. It’s an oddly sexual thing, watching him eat. The way he licks his lower lip to catch any of the juices that may have dripped. And the way he swallows.
Jesus Christ.
