by Burke, Lynn
And he called Giada selfish. Fucking narcistic prick. She’d be better off leaving the family, same as I’d done with mine. Independence. Freedom to be what one wanted. Freedom to make one’s own way in life without negative influence or pressure.
Sure, she’d moved out three years earlier from what I’d learned, but she hadn’t yet escaped the Burtonelli name and the shit that came with it.
I’d chosen a life of violence, earning my black belt in karate rather than self-medicate with sex, booze, and drugs, and eventually opened a dojo where I could teach kids and women how to properly protect themselves—with self-confidence rather than fear.
Because of my life’s choice, I could protect our clients from close-up threats, but if someone wanted to take Burtonelli out from a distance, the surrounding buildings in Boston’s downtown would offer the perfect lay-in-wait spot for a sharp shooter.
My intuition, alertness, fists, and ability to wield a gun could only offer so much. But I’d been paid to do my best—nothing would keep me from focusing. Not even a gorgeous, young woman whose mere presence acted like a live wire touching my skin, and whose unsettling, true emotions couldn’t be hidden. At least, not from me.
Even considering the fucked situation, I could feel her stare. Smell her sweetness. Taste the instantaneous lust sparking between us. Empathize with her inner pain.
I wanted to hold her close. Punch out the judge, or at least give him a piece of my damn mind about the damage words inflicted on tender souls—oftentimes more than fists.
But I couldn’t be distracted. Warden trusted me. I needed to stay out of the family drama and focus on what needed to be done.
Burtonelli would exit the limo first—his insistence. At least, if anyone wanted to put a bullet through his brain, they’d attempt it before his loved ones stood in the line of fire.
Hopefully, and good riddance, my asshole vindictive side whispered in my head.
The family would follow one by one, Cristian holding his mother’s arm, the two daughters bringing up the rear. Greed would follow the judge into the event, and I would act as tail gunner, keeping everyone and everything within sight.
“Don’t get out until I tell you it’s clear,” I told Burtonelli as the driver pulled up to the hotel’s entrance.
He nodded his agreement, and I climbed from the limo, taking stock of our surroundings and the people waiting with cameras along the roped off area. I unbuttoned my suit coat, giving myself easy access to the gun in my shoulder holster.
Greed hurried from the lead car to take up position a few feet away, his focus on the area behind me as a handful of reporters flocked as close to the walkway as allowed.
Body tense, I motioned for Judge Burtonelli to climb out.
Light bulbs flashed as he straightened once out of the car, his wide grin and waves, the pointing finger he waggled at some, a true politician move. He strode up the carpet, and I nodded for Greed to follow on his heels, while I stood watch over the rest of the family. Mrs. Burtonelli exited next, Cristian and Marisa right behind her.
Giada’s heel and smooth leg made an appearance, and I found my hand lowering, offering assistance when I hadn’t done so for the other two ladies. Her fingers grazed mine—and twined as she appeared fully, lilacs and vanilla swarming my nose when she stood beside me.
Jaw clenched against the swell of my dick, I forced my focus on the crowd rather than her gaze I felt on my face.
“Thank you.” The low words of appreciation jolted me to full fucking mast. My balls ached. My jaw ached.
I glanced down, intending to nod and look away, but her intense gaze snagged my attention.
A slow smile tilted her lips upward, her dimple appearing, and slammed me in the gut.
I stared as she started away, her fingers and gaze lingering on me until our hands stretched between us and she watched me over her shoulder.
Focus, Goddamnit.
Tearing my attention off Giada fucking hurt worse than a kick to the stomach, but I’d been paid to do a job, and I wasn’t about to fuck up one of my best friend’s reputation.
Fuck knew how long we would be in the judge’s employ, and I hoped like hell we erased the threat to him sooner than later ... before I lost my damn mind over a woman and fucked up.
Warden counted on me.
The Burtonelli family counted on me.
I couldn’t allow a single one of them to be our downfall.
Chapter Two
Giada
Father’s new head of security was fine as fuck. Buzzed hair like a military man, his scruffy, cut jaw line and blue eyes sharp as a hawk. He watched me closely, sending lush shivers over my skin, and even though a “let’s fuck all damn night long” spark had ignited between us the second our eyes had met, I felt he studied me for more than surface shit like most men did.
His steady gaze screamed intuition, and I swore empathy oozed from his pores, almost as obvious as the lust in his eyes. At least there hadn’t been a hint of pity when I caught him looking at me during the limo ride while Father couldn’t keep his hatred of me to himself.
Talk about embarrassing, but I didn’t allow too many emotions to show on my face. God knew Father took advantage of every opportunity he could seek out to belittle me—even in front of the damn people he hired.
The fucktwat.
Father might be an asshole who’d decided I would never measure up to his other two golden children, but out of love for my mother and my baby brother, I bit my tongue more often than not. I put up with the unkind words in order to keep the peace, but some days, especially when I hadn’t gotten laid in months and bitch from hell in need of a big dick made an appearance...
I inhaled a deep breath, lifted my chin, and walked the damn red carpet Father had insisted on for a party he hadn’t even planned.
Family. Loyalty.
Father saw them a bit differently than me, but we believed in both whole-heartedly. The problem with being born to people like my parents, I was expected to be like them.
I’d been nothing but a disappointment, just like Father often reminded me, the black sheep who turned her fiery Italian temper and drive into being herself rather than what everyone else wanted.
Rebellion came easy. Feelings of adequacy and self-worth, not so much.
I was beautiful. Had a body women killed themselves for and men worshiped. I was even up and coming in the modeling industry, but I still felt like a failure deep inside where no one could see.
I’d hid it so well for so long ... but those arresting blue eyes of his seemed to see all the way through me.
He stood behind Father during dinner like a stoic sentinel, a mighty warrior with broad shoulders inside his dark gray suit. He didn’t look at me as our meal progressed, his gaze flitting from one end of the ballroom to the other as though reading every single guests’ intentions on their faces.
Logan Stone, a ninja warrior, according to Cristian.
“Isn’t he hot?” Cristian had whispered in my ear as he’d hugged me earlier in my parent’s foyer.
I’d known immediately who he’d meant. Not the pretty boy behind me—Greed, he’d called himself while seating me at our table—but the serious man who had towered over me in the doorway, whose mere brush of a glance down my body turned me on more than any man’s hands had ever done in my twenty-six years.
He was hot as fuck, and I expected Cristian wanted to jump his bones just as badly as I did. Cristian didn’t bother trying to hide his stares, though. Unashamedly open, emotions on his sleeve, my little brother salivated over our father’s new head of security.
Hell, if Father ever learned of his only son’s sexual orientation...
I couldn’t even begin to imagine the backlash, the words, and the hurt he would experience.
My teeth clenched as I caught Father watching Cristian stare at Logan, his brow furrowing.
I swiped out my arm, knocked over my glass of champagne, some of it dripping onto my lap before soaking
into the white linen table cloth. “Oops.”
Father scowled fully, his attention once more upon me as I hopped out of my chair, drawing everyone’s attention, too. Lips pursed, he wisely kept silent on whatever shit he grumbled in his head. If his supporters at the table with us knew the asshole side of him I was too-well acquainted with, he might lose some of his following. His contributions. His position of authority.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, grabbing my purse and moving out of a server’s way to clean up my spill.
“Do you need help, dear?” Mother asked, putting her napkin onto the table and starting to rise.
“No.” I offered a fake smile. “Stay and enjoy yourself. I’ll be right back.”
I made my way toward the bathroom, and felt rather than saw that a bodyguard shadowed me as I slipped out the double doors.
Logan, without a doubt, his gaze on my swaying ass.
I glanced over my shoulder to find my instincts spot on. Once in the quiet, carpeted hallway leading to the bathrooms, I stopped and waited for him to catch up.
His gaze fell to my face after scanning the immediate area.
“Giada,” I said, offering my hand, “and if you so much as whisper to my father about how Cristian can’t keep his eyes off you, I’ll kick your ass.”
The corner of his lips twitched, but his eyes remained cold as his last name as he gripped my hand. “Logan,” he said, his rumbling voice slickening my pussy up good and ready for whatever he packed inside his slacks, “and if I hear your father say one goddamn word to Cristian about his attraction to men, I’ll kick his ass.”
My lips rose on their own as the connection I’d felt between us in my parents’ foyer thickened. “I think I like you, Logan Stone.”
A good five seconds of silence lingered over us, thrumming my pulse before he answered. “I’ve got a job to do.” His tone hinted at annoyance, and I lifted an eyebrow, allowing him to tug his hand from mine.
My gaze fell to his broad shoulders, and I imagined digging my nails into them as he planked above me. Thrusting … fucking... “A little fun never hurt anyone.”
“Too much fun can cause a shit ton of trouble.”
“Not if you’re smart about it.” I inhaled deeply, stared up at him, trying like hell to read his face, see the attraction, the energy I could feel crackling between us. He smelled like a blustery fall day with a hint of manly musk beneath.
I wanted a taste.
My pussy wept over the emptiness plaguing it the previous couple of months since I’d told myself no fucking, no conquests—for my family’s sake.
“As delicious as I imagine you’d taste,” Logan said, leaning down to whisper in my ear and sending a rush of goosebumps over my skin, “as lush as you’d feel in my hands, I’ve got a job to do. Nothing and no one, no matter how gorgeous, is going to hinder me from completing my task.”
Logan stepped back, hands clasped behind him as I struggled to slow down my heartbeat, stop the water works in my mouth and creaming between my thighs. Lips parted, I stared at him, my imagination a riotous mess of skin, lips, and teeth.
Mutual lust—but he was one stoic mother fucker.
“I’ll change your mind,” I said, more breathless than I would have liked, my pussy spasming with need for his dick.
“You won’t.”
Chin lifted, I glanced down over his tense form, noting the hard cock pressing against his left thigh. “We’ll see.” I flounced away, intent on dabbing at the champagne that had soaked into my dress—and tossing the panties his scent, his male alpha-ness had ruined.
I’d never met anyone like Logan Stone, and even though I expected Cristian would be heartbroken over me snagging his new love interest, I wasn’t as stoic, didn’t have the self-control to keep me from getting what I wanted.
And I wanted Father’s head of security. I knew how to be sneaky, and with his occupation, I expected he did as well.
Logan didn’t meet my gaze when I exited the bathroom, but feeling his presence behind me as we moved back toward the ballroom, slickened my pussy once more.
I should have gotten myself off in the damn bathroom. Brow furrowed, I stepped back, allowing Logan to grasp the ballroom’s door handle.
“Okay, little girl?”
I shot a glare at him. “Little?”
His lips twitched again.
“I have the female equivalent of blue balls, I’ll have you know,” I told him, my focus once more falling to the bulge in his pants. “And you’ve ruined my panties.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He pulled open the door but didn’t seem the least bit contrite—or moved by my declaration.
“Stoic bastard,” I muttered, striding past him. I swore I heard a chuckle, but my attention jerked toward the stage.
Father had taken to the podium, his voice booming in the speakers. A quick glance in my direction—with easily noted annoyance—and he continued on with his speech of thanks and all that bullshit, swaying the rich assholes in attendance to toss their dollars at his campaign manager.
I sat once more at the table that had been cleared of china and crystal goblets, hands folded on my lap, a fake ass smile plastered on my face as I gave him my full attention all for the sake of my family.
He bragged about his accomplishments—Marisa’s, too, praising her to high fucking heaven for following in his footsteps, while I fought to keep my faltering smile in place.
Marisa’s cheeks flushed, and she glanced at me above the red roses and greenery center piece with the pity I’d come to loathe.
My return smile stated without words that all was well, when in truth, my chest felt like another knife stabbed deep, twisting.
Praise for Cristian came next—currently on track to become valedictorian of his class. He’d already been accepted to Harvard Law School, Father and Marisa’s alma mater.
Mother squeezed my forearm, but I ignored her. She’d never done anything to stop Father other than quiet chides here and there when his abusive nature got out of control. She never once had stood up for me, sided with me, or backed my decision when I’d told them I planned to drop out of college.
Father started in on his campaign and bringing down the hammer on drug running through our state. While I appreciated his plan to clean up the streets, he’d only latched onto that issue when a few of his friends had gathered the year before to smoke their cigars and discuss politics after a long ass dinner I’d been ordered to attend.
The discussion had started at the table, and Father didn’t bother hiding the calculating mind at work behind his eyes when the idea of running on the drug issue arose.
A great cause. A great desire—if it had been one in his heart rather than a means to a seat in the Senate. Unfortunately, by choosing such a stance, he’d made enemies, thus the need for amped-up security. If only his dogmatism came from a true desire for change...
I guzzled down two more glasses of champagne, becoming happily buzzed and no longer hurt by snide comments and distasteful glances by Father’s peers. I didn’t give a shit if they didn’t like my sexy Oscar de la Renta gown or my past indiscretions. Fuck them and fuck their money. Perhaps it was time to cut my ties with my father—and pray I didn’t lose the rest of my family in the aftermath.
Fucking the security guard would certainly set the stage for a blow out with Father, but I didn’t want to hurt Logan or the security company he worked for. Sneaky, it would have to be … and I would just have to find a different way to remove myself from the Judge Burtonelli picture.
****
“You will all be staying at the house until the threats have been nullified.”
I stared at Father in the limo’s dim interior, my drunken brain taking a few extra seconds to make out what he’d said. “What?” I asked, sure I hadn’t heard right.
“You and Marisa are moving back in until I take my seat in the Senate.”
I stared, seriously tempted to burst into laughter. The arrogance... I glanced at Mother
to find her smiling.
“All of us back beneath the same roof. My babies.”
I barely kept from snorting. She’d had too much to drink, too.
My focus didn’t move back to Father as quickly as my head did. “I have a life outside of your campaign, Father.”
“And you won’t have a life at all if you’re left unprotected!”
So maybe he cares a bit after all... I stared, sure I knew better.
“I won’t have any scandal, any negative press from this family,” he stated, his voice and gaze stern, “even if mourning is socially acceptable. I do not want that kind of spotlight on us.”
The lightbulb went off in my buzzed head at the word scandal. Nope. He didn’t care about my life—just his image.
I smiled tightly, feeling Logan’s focus on my face. “And how long are we expected to move back in for?”
“The election is next November,” he said with enough of a sneer I knew he questioned my intelligence.
I blamed the champagne for not remembering what he’d stated about staying until he took his seat in the Senate. Father continued to mutter under his breath about his drunk daughter’s stupidity, but my heart lay dead in my damn chest as I stared out the window, the lights a blur in the darkness.
Living back at home. Every twenty-something’s worst nightmare, especially when one parent was a narcistic prick and the other an enabler.
“My roof, my rules,” Father continued, and I shut him out rather than hear what had been pounded into my brain years earlier. No drinking. No drugs. No partying when they left for an evening or weekend. No sleep overs of any sort—especially the opposite sex. No sex under their roof.
I glanced at Logan who radiated energy enough to flatten my damn father. Jaw clenched, he met my gaze, and I swallowed against sudden tightness in my throat. His pale blue eyes showed the type of caring, warmth, and protectiveness I would love to burrow inside. Hide away from the world.
Maybe have an orgasm or ten while entwining myself with him.
“Giada!”
I ripped my focus off Logan to meet my father’s glare.