8. Gabriel
EIGHT
Well.What a pleasant and unexpected surprise. I stare at Riley, my mouth open in a half-smile, aware that my face is lit up like a Christmas tree. ”This is an interesting turn of events.”
Her pink lips part and the tip of her tongue traces the creamy edge of the dessert spoon. Tingles race down my spine, and I snap my eyes shut. Holy fuck. This woman”s sexiness just increased tenfold and I think she”s teasing me.
”Mmm-hmm.” She takes another spoonful of dessert and I open my eyes in time to see her swooning over the sweetness. ”Delicious tiramisu, by the way.”
I sip my after-dinner cognac silently, musing about this little minx”s double life and marveling at my fortune. I could”ve sworn she was just another innocent recent college graduate, and here she is, at least somewhat versed in the underworld. Is this good for me? Perhaps. Or she could be like those prosecutor types who come from hard and criminal families, ones who turn the other cheek in pursuit of conventional justice. Also, do the editors at her newspaper know about her past?
”Is that why you wanted to cover crime? Because of where you grew up, and your dad?” I”m insanely curious to know so much more about the lovely Riley Murphy.
She nods, slowly. ”I was always fascinated by how the Irish mob worked in Southie. How it was so dangerous and amoral, and yet, it also took care of families. Like my own. We wouldn”t have eaten some weeks if it wasn”t for the generosity of some gangsters.”
”If your family was so poor, how did you go to such good schools? Grad school”s not cheap.”
”Loans. They”ll give ”em to anybody.” She grins. ”I”m sure I”ll die before I pay them off, so who cares.”
She takes a sip of her brandy and grimaces. ”I think I like the gin and tonic better than this.”
”Noted.” I lick my lips. ”What does your father think about you writing about organized crime and murders and such here in Tampa?”
There”s a flicker of hesitation in her clear, blue eyes. ”He hates it. Won”t discuss it at all. Wouldn”t talk to me for a few weeks when I first got the job.”
”That must be hard.” I lean in.
She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. ”I feel compelled to do it. Compelled to find out the truth. Dad thought I was going to become an entertainment journalist, something fluffy. He was all for that because somehow he thought I”d meet a rich Hollywood type and marry him. And that was my intent when I first went to school. Well, the entertainment journalist part, not the marriage part. But when Lorna was killed, I changed my mind. Wanted to somehow, I don”t know, pay tribute to her. Tell the truth because she can”t. Kinda stupid, isn”t it?”
”It”s either stupid or incredibly brave. I don”t know which.”
She laughs, and for the first time, it”s a genuine sound, one that I yearn to hear more of. ”At least you”re honest.”
”I”m probably the most honest gangster you”ll ever meet.”
”Can I quote you on that?” Her eyes sparkle.
”About that.” As if on cue, thunder rolls in the distance.
”A storm”s coming,” she says softly, looking deep into my eyes.
Fuck, I want to take this woman to bed.
The air between us has that scent that comes before it rains; that tropical perfume balanced on the edge of possibility and disaster. That it might storm violently tonight. That it might pour rain in sheets that drown everything around us.
”I have a proposal for you, Riley.” It feels sinful to say her name on my lips, and I”d love to hear her crying out mine.
”Another one? I”m already your captive.”
She eyes me, and I swear her expression is flirting with seduction. This is another point of confusion, and I”m thrown off my game. What does this woman want? She should be scared, but isn”t. Which leaves me both turned on and suspicious. I”d normally think she was a plant from the Irish mafia, but I have no issues with them—never have done business with them, in fact—and she”s been reasonably forthcoming.
I clear my throat. ”You”re free to leave.”
”Now?”
I nod. ”But if you do, you won”t get the chance to interview me for that exclusive story you want.”
”I see.” She traces her bottom lip with her index finger, and I think about replacing her finger with my tongue.
Or my cock.
”What”s the other option?”
”You stay with me for the weekend as my guest. You”ve seen your room, and I trust that it”s comfortable, no?”
”It”s pretty swanky.”
”Perfect. If you stay, you”ll accompany me to a charity ball tomorrow. We”ll tell people you”re doing a story and are shadowing me through everyday life. On Sunday, we”ll sit down for a formal interview during brunch. On Monday morning, I”ll drop you off at the paper or your apartment, and you should have enough to write a story on me and impress your editors.”
Of course, I”m only going to show her the good, benevolent, and kind side of me. Tomorrow”s charity event to benefit the local humane society is a perfect place for that, plus I forgot to line up a date while dealing with this Doyle bullshit. Usually, I could get one at a moment”s notice, but Riley is a far better candidate for all sorts of reasons.
She wrinkles her nose. ”I”m going to need?—”
”A dress? Makeup? Don”t worry. I”ll provide everything.”
”No, I was going to say, my phone and a notebook or two.”
I shake my head. ”No phones here. This is my sanctuary, and I don”t trust you enough. I can”t have private details of my space online. Notebooks, I can do. Pens, too.”
Smiling, she pushes her chair away from the table and stands. I look up at her and raise one eyebrow. ”So, what will it be?”
She eye-fucks me for a few long beats. ”I can never resist a good story. I”ll stay, Gabriel.”