Michael
Istep out onto Katie’s porch and Luca comes out behind me letting the screen door fall shut. In the driveway, Sarah is already sliding into the driver’s seat of her car. I rest my forearms on the porch railing for a moment, looking out at the street.
“Head home,” I tell him. “Then fill Marco in on where I am.”
Luca nods.
“Tell him I’ll be back in the morning,” I continue. “And if anything changes with Donnelly tonight, he calls me immediately.”
He nods again.
“We’re meeting Romano tomorrow morning,” I add. “Eight o’clock. Dock warehouse.”
“Shipment inspection?” Luca asks.
“Romano’s been asking questions about numbers that don’t concern him,” I reply calmly. “So tomorrow we’re going to remind him which parts of the operation belong to him and which parts don’t.”
Understanding flickers across his face.
“And after that I’ve got a lunch meeting at twelve,” I continue. “An investment group from San Diego.”
Luca’s mouth twitches faintly.
“Legitimate business,” he says dryly.
“Try not to sound so surprised.”
A horn honks from the driveway.
“You coming or what?” Sarah calls out of her window.
“You’re good here?” he asks.
My eyes drift toward the living room window. Through the thin curtains I see Katie moving around the kitchen, stacking the empty pizza boxes on the counter and wiping a hand across her hair as she works. I nod, so he heads down the porch steps toward Sarah’s car.
“And cousin,” I say.
Luca turns back to me.
“Don’t go running your mouth to the pretty girl in that car.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Boss.”
A moment later the headlights sweep across the front yard as they pull away from the curb. I stay where I am until the car disappears down the street. The front door opens behind me, and Katie wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her face between my shoulder blades.
“You need different clothes.”
I glance down at her hands. “Do I?”
“Yeah,” she says. “You can’t hang out in my house dressed like that.”
I reach back, catch her wrist, and pull her around, turning her into my chest.
“What’s wrong with this?” I ask.
Her hands flatten against me.
“It’s a suit,” she says. “You look like you’re about to conduct business in my living room.”
My mouth twitches. “And how would you like me dressed?”
She pulls back, taking my hands.
“Sweatpants and a T-shirt,” she says after a second. “And we can grab a few other things for you to keep here. That way, if this happens again, you’ll have something to change into.”
I lean in. “So you’re already planning on me staying here again?”
She shoves me back. “Just let me get my car keys.”
“Uh, no,” I say, catching her hand before she can step away. “We are not driving your car.”
She twists out of my grip, already moving. “We are absolutely driving my car.”
I follow her a step. “Katie—“
“And you’re going to sit in the passenger seat,” she adds, turning just enough to pinch my side.
“That’s not happening.”
Her smile is dangerous. “Oh, it is.”
I track her the entire walk to her car. It’s a fucking Honda Accord that’s too small, too old, and she’s way too smug about it. Especially since my SUV is sitting ten feet away.
She unlocks her door and slides in, so I move around to the passenger side.
The handle doesn’t give when I pull it, and I pause, irritation settling in before I knock on the window.
She holds up a finger, then leans across the seat and flips the lock up by hand.
I watch it click open, jaw tight, cursing under my breath as I open the door, because the damn thing doesn’t even have automatic locks.
My knees hit the dash the second I sit down, and I have to adjust, reaching for the lever and shoving the seat all the way back just to get some space. It’s still tight. I exhale slowly, already annoyed, and glance over at her.
“Aw,” she mocks, her tone sweet in a way that’s anything but. “Poor massive giant is too big for my car.”
I fucking run a multi-billion-dollar criminal organization, and I’m sitting here letting a woman who weighs maybe a hundred and thirty pounds talk to me like I’m a little punk.
I stare at her for a second. She thinks she’s in control here.
My hand slides across the console and closes around her throat, not squeezing—just enough pressure to remind her I’m here. Her breath stutters. Her hands stay on the wheel, but her grip shifts, tighter now. I drag my thumb lightly against her pulse and feel it spike.
“Still wanna run your mouth?” I murmur.
Her lips part like she’s about to say something anyway.
She’s stubborn as hell. I lean in fast and crush my mouth to hers, cutting off whatever smart remark was brewing.
My tongue forces its way in, tangling with hers, and she doesn’t fight it.
Her mouth opens more, sucking in a sharp inhale through her nose as her pulse hammers under my fingers.
One of her hands snaps up from the wheel to grab my shirt, pulling me closer instead of away.
I kiss her harder, teeth grazing her lower lip, feeling the vibration of a low sound in her throat.
I pull back abruptly, leaving her lips parted and wet, eyes locked on mine.
She leans back, sucking in a breath.
“Dude,” she says. “That was amazing.”
I kiss her like that, and she calls me dude. I shake my head.
“What?”
“People—especially women—don’t usually call me dude,” I say.
She grins, lifting her hand to my hair.
“I forgot,” she says. “You’re Mr. Boss-man. CEO.”
“Your mouth’s going to get you in trouble one of these days,” I tell her.
Her fingers slide through my hair. She’s not even remotely concerned.
“Looking forward to it,” she says with a wink.