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My eyes rake over his menacing tattoos—prison tattoos—and sexy, dead set eyes.
A pulse of tension flutters across his forehead, making him look like a total boss.
I rest my chin on my pent-up fist. "Okay, caveman."
He rams the coffee into my left hand. "There ya go."
"Let’s not sayya," I drawl. "We don’t want to sound like my Scottish guard."
"Tell me what you want for lunch." At least Medici’s open to getting me a bite to eat.
I mull this. "I’m praying there’s a good burger place around here."
He shakes his head. "We need something that'll stay warm if a jet delivers it. Think:sandwich."
"A chicken sandwich," I groan hungrily. "Preferably, two or three from Popeyes."
Medici’s mouth waters. "I love Popeyes."
"What’s your favorite thing on the menu?"
"The chicken sandwich—duh.With mashed potatoes."
"Spicy or regular?"
"Stop. You’re making my belly rumble."
I lick my lips. "Tell me."
"One of each," Medici rasps, his tongue swiping across his lower lip.
I rub my belly. "I could kill for Popeyes right now."
Medici and I turn to face each other in the hazy gray light of the sky.
Something lurks behind his dark Italian eyes—I can’t tell what it is.
All I know is that his face with its pronounced nose and chiseled jaw isperfect.
A frisson of heat works through me.
Okay—this man isn’t as bad as I thought.
He possesses tenderness, but this facet of his personality is buried deep.
I wonder how to access it.
Medici extends his hand. "Give me back my coffee. I need the energy to fly."
I pout. "I haven’t had a sip yet."
"There’s another one in the cooler."
Slidinghiscoffee drink back in his hand, I pull the other out for myself.
In no time, the taste of the delicious, creamy iced cappuccino washes over my tastebuds.
I perk up and pop my lips. "How will we get our Popeyes?"
