Page 98 of Broken Blood Ties

Chapter30

Kieran

Ifind myself angry. Pent up with frustration of more than one kind. I’ve no doubt scared Summer, and I shudder at my inability to have kept my hands to myself. She was so sexy in that dress. So much so, I didn’t care about the price tag or that I don’t have a time in mind for when she can wear it. It didn’t matter. She needed the dress, and I … I needed to see her in it.

After that I was a goner.

Bleeding hell. I was not prepared for that dress. More specifically, Summer in the dress. Not touching her was impossible. Made worse by her melting into me. If she’d pulled away, or if I had made her uncomfortable, I would’ve stopped.

But she didn’t.

Her chest pounded against my hand. Breathy whimpers and not so silent gasps heightened my own reaction to seeing her like that. Wanton, and achingly beautiful.

The way she had trembled beneath my exploring touch yet didn’t cower under my scrutiny …

Shite.

I’d pickedLuxeAteliernot only because Summer deserves the very best in Boston but also because it’s where most of the Italians, Yakuzas, and corrupted politician’s wives shop. News that Summer, also known as Isabella Buscetta, was here with me for a new wardrobe will start floating through the underground circles no later than tonight. Sarah, while snotty, has the biggest mouth there is, and I’m pretty sure she’s involved with several men from each of the established organizations in Boston.

The wind bites my nose as we exit the boutique. Dusk has nearly faded away into city light illuminated dark, and while I’m sure Summer would prefer to go home, I want more time with her.

The comment about Target stuck with me, and while I love seeing Summer dressed in the clothing from LA, my thoughts shift to her all red-nosed and sickly answering the door in sweatpants. That look almost rivals the one where she’s in Versace.

Hell. I’m supposed to be proving to her that she can stay here, not chase her away with my obsessive need for her in my life.

I always thought it would be an organization to bring me to my knees, not a bleeding Buscetta.

Palm on her back, I direct Summer toward my Audi. I open the passenger door for her and watch as she slides in, dressed in her wrinkled jeans and pink sweater. She looks even more frazzled than when she came into the shop, and I preen at the thought it may be because of me.

“I know ye need some other basics, so we’ll make a quick stop before heading home,” I say in the car’s stillness once I’ve climbed in.

Summer doesn’t look at me. Instead, she stares at the open pore oak dash clutching her chest. The cream Nappa leather practically swallows her, but having her here, in my car, feels right. I torture myself with visions of her in the front seat and Aoife in the back on our way to the marina for a weekend on the yacht.

Who am I kidding? She doesn’t want this life—she ran away from it. How can I make her see that she belongs here in Boston, part of Aoife’s life, part of mine?

Starting the car, I pull away from the curb where my car has sat over the time limit and take the grand total of two roads toward Target. I can’t help but increase the span between each glance at Summer. I’m waiting. Watching for her reaction.

And I’m not disappointed.

When we pull into the parking lot, that obnoxious bullseye glares at me, but Summer’s face goes from indifference to surprise, her mouth parting and brows creasing.

“Here?”

I shrug and then turn the wheel into a faraway parking spot. “Figured since ye mentioned it.” Parking the car, I turn it off, shifting to smirk at her. “Unless it’s beneath ya.”

She snorts. “Who needs fancy boutiques when you have the dollar section.”

A sly grin spreads across her mouth and my mind reels that all it took was pulling into the parking lot at Target, of all places, to bring out her playful side with me. Definitely not something I’d expect from the spoiled Cosa Nostra daughter I know she was growing up.

Over the years, on my occasional trips to New York, Luna would tell me stories.

I reach over to unbuckle her seatbelt, and my hand grazes her hip causing her to shift in her seat. Unable to help it, I glance at her lips.

My phone rattles in the center console. Cormac.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“Boss. Riku is putting four fighters in the next fight. We crunched the numbers and we’ll be underwater unless we have another fighter for us.”