by Mia Madison
I can’t stand pity. “Don’t ‘babe’ me! Let me go!” I flail at him, helpless girl style, trying to push him away, to put space between us.
In response, he pulls me fully against him. My legs automatically go into “yes please” mode and lock around his waist. Then his mouth comes down on mine, and every thought vanishes.
The taste of him, the heat, the hard muscles of his back beneath my palms, fill me with the deepest need I’ve ever known. His hands skim under my t-shirt to explore. He cups a breast and flicks his thumb over my swollen nipple, and I whimper into his mouth.
When he pulls back abruptly, I feel like a kid whose Christmas toys all got stolen. “Got a lot to do today,” he says. “That’s the only reason we’re not spending the day in bed.”
I tremble all over, and his eyes fill with a banked heat that promises a wildfire later. “We’re gonna talk about what’s going on in that head of yours, but let’s not have any more crap about there not being anything between us.”
Since he’s right, I glare at him. “Fine. You’re a sex god like every other freaking Adamo male.”
Carlo drops his forehead to mine for a moment, like I’m taxing his patience instead of the other way around. Then he shakes his head, steps back, and says, “Breakfast.”
“I’ll eat at work.” The less time I spend being tempted by Carlo, the better. “Where’s my uniform? I need to get going. If you wouldn’t mind dropping me off, that would be great.”
“You’re not going to work today.”
The top of my head is going to lift right off and go into orbit. Who the hell does he think he is, telling me what I can and can’t do? This is exactly why alpha males are bad news. “Of course I’m going to work,” I say, with what I think is an admirable level of self-control.
“No, you’re not.”
“Carlo!” I rub my fingers against the headache blossoming in my forehead and try to calm down. It doesn’t work. “I realize this is a difficult concept for you, but you’re not in charge of me. You don’t get to order me around. If I want to go to work, I’ll go to work.”
He moves in again, bracing his hands on either side of me on the island behind me. “You don’t understand what happened last night.”
Is he talking about him and me, or what happened later? It’s safer to steer clear of us as a topic, so I go with the other option. “I was attacked by a crazy man with a knife.”
“That crazy man is a pimp, which you probably guessed. What you don’t know is his boss is a man named Vasily Gagarin, who’s got connections and not the good kind. Last night, you put yourself on the radar of some very dangerous people.”
“Vasily Gagarin?” I repeat. My skin is suddenly chilled. “Is he … are you talking about the Russian mob?”
“Yeah, I am,” Carlo says. “You messed with his operation, angel. Got me involved, got the cops involved. Gagarin doesn’t like that, and he’s got no scruples about who he hurts. If he can find you, he’ll make an example of you.”
“Oh,” I say, very softly.
Carlo stands back up, but doesn’t move away. “I’m sorry I had to tell you that, though it’s better that you know what’s up. But when I tell you you’re not going to work, that’s why. We’re putting plans in place for Revved, so you and all the other girls will be safe, but until that site is secure you’re not going anywhere near it.”
I press my lips together and look away. He brings my face back around, his touch gentle. “They’re not getting near you, Gina. I won’t let them.”
“Thank you,” I say, and my voice sounds rusty. “But, Carlo … I can’t afford not to work.”
His gaze sharpens. “You got extra expenses?”
I know he won’t let me get away with any evasions or half-truths here. The sooner I come clean, the sooner I can get on with what I need to be doing. Taking a deep breath, I rip off a layer of my protective armor. “I’ve been on my own since I was fourteen.”
9
Hot Guys Convention
Carlo turns to flint before my eyes. “Your parents alive?” he says in a voice like gravel.
“As far as I know.”
“You took off?”
“I had to.” Understanding filters into his gaze, but no softness. He’s cold as an iceberg, but I can sense the volcanic rage beneath the surface. “Please, Carlo. I need my hours.”
After a long moment, he nods. “Go get dressed. I’ll take you to work after we eat.”
“Thanks,” I say softly, and hurry off to the bedroom before he can change his mind. My uniform is neatly folded on a dresser, and when I pick it up I realize it’s clean. He must have done it after I fell asleep last night. I hold the top up to my face, inhaling the fresh scent, and tears sting my eyes.
When I get back to the kitchen after cleaning up and changing, he’s at the stove, flipping slices of French toast. Coming up behind him, I slide my arms around his waist and lay my cheek against his back. He goes still.
“You washed my uniform,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice is rougher than usual. I press a kiss between his shoulder blades, let him go, and poke around the kitchen until I find placemats and silverware and plates to set the table.
Now that all the crises are over, for the moment at least, I realize what I’m missing. I look around the kitchen and spot a coffeemaker on the counter. It’s top of the line, but looks like it’s never been used. “Do you not drink coffee?”
“Nope.”
“What kind of freak are you?”
His mouth quirks. “Beans are in the cupboard above the machine.”
I open it to find a bag of very good dark roast beans, along with a grinder. “Plug your ears,” I warn him, and grind up enough beans for a couple of cups. Who does he keep all this stuff for, if not himself?
Bad question. My mind immediately goes to other women, and I suppress the quick, hot flash of jealousy. I have no right to any such feelings. Grabbing the carafe, I carry it to the sink, a path that takes me right by Carlo.
His hands come to my hips, and his face goes into my hair, his mouth almost touching my neck. Breathing in, he says, “You smell like wildflowers.”
A tremor runs through me. “Carlo …” I’m past the point where I have the words to argue or even plead with him. To my surprise, he lets me go without another word and goes back to cooking.
Breakfast is strangely peaceful after the events of the last twelve hours. We eat without a lot of conversation or eye contact. I don’t want to disturb our fragile new equilibrium, and Carlo, for once, is willing to let me be.
When we go out to his car, I see that the outside of the house is suspiciously bland, with no hint of the richness of the interior. There’s a perimeter of lawn, but the edge of the property — which seems pretty big — is lined with trees and shrubs.
Once we’re on the road to Revved, I scope out the neighborhood. We’re only a few minutes from downtown; he’s got an oasis that keeps him close to the action. Nice.
As soon as we hit Revved, it’s obvious that today is not business as usual. For starters, there are a bunch of black SUVs in the parking lot. Heads come up in the garage as Carlo pulls into a space and kills the engine. When we emerge from the vehicle, Rico leaves the garage, heading for the café, and a moment later Dante comes out of the parts store.
We all go in the back entrance. I go to the office to put my purse away and when I hit the front, I stop dead. This is because Revved Café looks like the meeting room for a Hot Guys Convention.
10
Locking Down
Buff, military-looking men are scattered around at various booths and tables, eating, drinking coffee, and keeping an eye on things. Jake Denton, a big bear of a man who favors Harley gear and works in the garage, is here, and so is Nicky Santos, another one of our mechanics.
There’s a man next to Jake whom I’ve never seen before, but who also looks like a biker. And then, lined up like a smorgasbord (or sho
uld that be smorgasmbord) of ovary-melting deliciousness, are a bunch of Adamo men: Kosta, Tonio, and Carlo, and the brothers who run Revved — Rico, Dante, and Victor.
And all of them are looking at me.
The first thing I want to do is order them all not to move, and then raid the restaurant for any materials I could use to draw them. At the same time, I’m acutely aware of their scrutiny. This much sexiness in one spot threatens to reach critical mass and melt down the café, and me along with it.
Despite the fact that I have died and gone to Hot Guy Heaven, I somehow keep myself under control. Clearing my throat, I raise my brows at Carlo to ask if he can please say whatever needs to be said so I can go wring out my panties in private. The look I get back makes me wonder just how much of my orgiastic state of mind shows on my face.
Folding my arms gets me a bunch of warm male gazes in response. None of them are blatantly staring at my breasts, but I have just hiked them up, and being experienced sexy guys, they’re probably skilled at surreptitious boob inspection.
“Hey, darlin’,” says the tall, built, biker-looking guy. He’s in jeans and leathers, with longish red hair and a beard to match, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen — he could be a Viking. His smile lights up the room. “What’s your name?”
I smile back at him, because how could I not? But before I can answer, Carlo hooks two fingers in the waistband of my pants and gently but firmly pulls me to him. A hot blush creeps up my face at being so blatantly claimed. All the other men are looking at us like it’s cute and they thoroughly approve.
Except Viking Biker Guy. His eyes go from me to Carlo and back to me. I didn’t fight being pulled to Carlo, but I’m not exactly cuddling up against him, either. “You change your mind, darlin’,” he says to me, “you let me know.”
A noise that sounds exactly like a growl starts deep in Carlo’s throat. I hastily lay a hand on his chest, and it subsides. Bloodshed averted — for now.
“This is Gina Driscoll,” Carlo says to the Viking. His hand leaves the front of my pants and goes around to the back, actually dipping inside the waistband there so it’s partway on my ass again. “Gina, this is Reid Calhoun. He leads the Firestorm motorcycle club.”
Reid doesn’t miss the migration of Carlo’s hand. “Call me Wolf,” he says, without the darlin’ this time. I give him a tiny smile, but don’t say anything in the interest of continuing to avoid violence.
“We’re locking down this stretch of turf,” Carlo tells me. “Wolf’s guys are gonna be patrolling. My guys will be coordinating security for Revved. Rico’s on point for the garage, Dante for the parts store, and Vic here in the café. And the cops are doing what they do. Vasily Gagarin will not be under any illusions about anyone here being easy to get to.”
Since he’s brought it up, I ask one of the questions that’s been gnawing at me. “How did the Russian mob wind up here?”
11
Thingness
The atmosphere gets tenser, and all the men’s faces get a little grimmer. “They’re quick to seize opportunities,” Carlo says. “There’s a power vacuum in town in the wake of recent events, and Gagarin’s trying to move in.” I nod, wanting to know more, but now is probably not the time.
“None of the girls who work at Revved will ever be here alone,” Carlo goes on. “As for you, angel, you don’t go anywhere without an escort. Me or one of my guys will take you.”
I’m not happy about this, but I don’t protest. Arguing about it while surrounded by nine alpha males would be worse than pointless. So I just nod again.
“I’ll be back later to pick you up,” he says.
“Okay.” I feel like I should say something more, but what? Despite his macho possessiveness, and everything that’s happened between us, we don’t actually have a relationship. And saying anything meaningful in front of the other hotties would be awkward anyway.
With a little squeeze of my hip, Carlo lets me go, and I move past the circle of men to see that Mickey, who usually works in the garage, is here. She’s a favorite of the guys who bring their cars and bikes in to be worked on, but so far as I know she’s never dated any of them. Or anyone else, for that matter.
“Hey Gina,” she says. “Are you okay? I heard about last night.”
“I’m fine. Sorry to leave you covering the whole café by yourself.” There’s no sign of Cait or Erin, so I guess their men are keeping them home while the security stuff gets worked out. Neither of them actually needs to work anymore, what with their guys being loaded and all; but they prefer to, and Tonio and Kosta don’t mind.
“It’s okay,” Mickey says. “Victor’s been helping out.”
Behind me, the men are speaking in low voices, but I ignore them and get to work. It’s the only normalcy I have right now. A few minutes later, as I’m putting in an order, the meeting breaks up, and I allow myself a last glimpse of Carlo as he leaves.
Just before he disappears down the hallway to the back door, he stops and turns his head to me. Caught staring, I can’t look away. For a long, simmering moment our gazes hold, and then the corner of his mouth lifts and he’s gone.
Mickey comes back from clearing a table and we start wrapping silverware in napkins, one of the many tasks to be done whenever there’s downtime. After a minute, she says, “That is one hot man.”
“Yeah.” Damn it all.
“Trouble in paradise?” she says. I don’t know her that well, but she’s a sweetheart, and she sounds sympathetic, not nosy. And without Cait or Erin here, I have to talk to someone.
“I met him yesterday,” I tell her. “Last night, in fact. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. And he—” I shake my head and fall silent.
“He’s moved in,” Mickey says.
“What?”
“To your head. He’s got space in there now, and he’s not leaving.”
“Exactly,” I say, with a sigh of relief that someone gets it. “He acts like we’re a thing and we don’t even know each other.”
“Maybe you are a thing. Thingness, in my observation, doesn’t always take much time.”
12
Hazard Pay
I think I hear the slightest hesitation before the word observation. “Do you have a thing with someone?” I ask, and her eyes get sad. “Uh-oh.”
She shakes her head fast, the way you do when you’re trying to dislodge a thought or fend off an emotion. “It’s pointless,” she says after a moment, and from the sorrow woven through her voice I know it’s not a new pain. “He’ll never see me that way.”
“Oh, honey.”
Mickey shrugs. “What can you do? That’s life.”
I know that’s just brave talk, but now is not the time for in-depth girlfriend confessions, so I give her hand a squeeze and we carry on.
All morning, there’s a rotating roster of black-clad men in the café. They’re not trying to be subtle, I know, and that’s good, because all the regular customers notice them. Even doing something as harmless as sitting at a table with a cup of coffee, there’s a lethal edge to these men.
When we hit the lunch rush, I say to Mickey, “Notice anything about our demographics?”
She looks around and her lips curl up. “Did we open a dating service and nobody told me?”
Except for our men in black, and a couple of guys from local businesses, we’ve been overrun by women. Not that we don’t always have a good share of women diners, but this is more. They’ve come in groups, crammed into booths, clustered around tables.
And they’re watching Carlo’s guys. Not just watching, but giggling, whispering, blushing. Clearly, the word went out from the early customers that there was a feast for the eyes as well as the mouth at Revved today.
“Some enterprising person ought to write a book,” I tell Mickey. “The Field Guide to North American Hotties. They could lead tours.”
She cracks up. Mickey has a great laugh, a sort of musical giggle that improves the day of anyone who hears it. She’s lost in
it, her head of dark golden curls thrown back, her pixie nose tilted up, when I look past her to see Rico standing in the doorway to the back. He’s watching her with a look on his face I’ve never seen before.
When he realizes I’ve noticed him, his expression goes blank. A moment later, he’s gone. Shit. Is he Mickey’s thing? The reason she doesn’t date? I am so not the matchmaking type, but there’s a part of me that really wants to meddle.
All that goes through my mind in an instant, and then I’m grinning at Mickey like everything’s normal, but my mind is whirling.
One woman takes out her cell phone and snaps a photo of the hot guy nearest her. He’s not even looking her way when it happens, but a moment later he’s at her booth and her phone is in his hand. She stares up at him with wide eyes while he deletes the photo, gives her phone back, and goes back to his table.
A swiftly-rising buzz of conversation runs through the café, followed by rustling sounds as a bunch of women dig through their purses, trying to be discreet and failing. Another one of Carlo’s guys speaks up. His voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through the room like a scythe. “Next phone that comes out gets confiscated.”
There’s a moment of absolute silence, and then the sound of phones being quietly tucked away again. I smirk at Mickey. Bossy alpha males can be highly amusing, when their tactics aren’t directed at me.
By the time Carlo comes back, the usual afternoon lull hasn’t hit. Every table is packed, and we’re still at a ratio of about 90% women to 10% men. “Busy day,” he says, looking around the room.
“Your guys are a big draw.” His eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously. Look at all the women in here.” Carlo rubs his hands through his hair and mutters something under his breath, so I keep going. “Victor should give you a bonus or something.”