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Gia avoided his gaze, hurrying to set the table.
For three.
Pretty little liar.
He cursed himself for the flowers—an impulse buy he should've known better than to make. And for the nerves that hit the moment she opened the door in those designer jeans and a knit top the same deep blue as her eyes. Her hair spilled around her shoulders, the ends brushing the upper curves of her breasts.
Lust had gut-punched him hard enough to make his hands shake.
He’d fought for control. Until he caught her staring. Then she’d said please in that sexy, throaty voice.
He didn’t stop to think about all the reasons he couldn’t trust her—his body responded to the unspoken invitation.
Hell, he ought to thank his grandfather for the interruption. Another minute, and he’d have been in Gia Barone’s bed, making her scream his name while cursing himself for letting desire overrule every ounce of judgement he had left.
This would’ve been a good time for that whiskey he had the other night. He could almost feel the harsh burn of it down the back of his throat. The fire in his chest. Instead, Caleb poured three glasses of water and put them on the table.
He thought back to his earlier conversation with Nathan. Gianna Barone was an accomplished liar, and he wasn’t leaving here tonight until he knew everything about her. He watched her slice the lasagna and plate it with quiet precision.
Or was Abigail Winters who she really was, buried beneath all the layers?
He carried the plates to the table.
Still… the fear in her eyes when he mentioned her past had been real. And the way she’d looked at him tonight hadn’t felt like a lie.
The longing in her voice when she whispered that single wordplease.
It shouldn’t matter.
But it did.
His grandfather waited for Gia to sit, then took a seat while his security detail faded into the background, as they’d been trained to do.
As Caleb was trained to do.
Only now, he was front and center. The main attraction.
He took the chair next to Gia. What to do about her would have to wait until this charade was over.
“Let us give thanks,” Ben said.
Caleb sat with his head bowed, silent through his grandfather’s blessing. As a boy in Phoenix, he’d prayed his grandfather would come for them. Bring them home. But he never did.
When his grandfather finished, Caleb dug into his meal. A perfect blend of cheeses, firm but supple pasta, and meat sauce with a symphony of spices lit up his taste buds.
Damn. He swallowed and tried not to fork the rest down like he was scarfing an MRE on patrol.
“This is excellent,” Ben said, complimenting Gia.
“It is,” Caleb added.
A flush of pleasure colored her cheeks. “Thank you. It’s an old family recipe.”
Family.
The pasta turned to ash on Caleb’s tongue. “A Winters family recipe?” he asked bringing the water glass to his lips.
Gia’s fork landed on her plate with a loud clank, her face pale.