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CHAPTER TWO

“Of course. Clay. Clay Oliver.”

Smiling, even though she felt as if her lips were glued together, Bianca stuck out her hand as Olivieri rose to his feet. All six feet something of him. She’d forgotten how tall he was. Well, not forgotten, maybe just underestimated. Not that it mattered. What mattered was the flash of irritation in those dark green eyes.

Lovely to see.

Especially because she certainly hadn’t forgotten his name.

She’d simply mangled it deliberately.

“It’s Chay. Chayton Olivieri, Ms. Wilde. Lieutenant Chayton Olivieri.”

His hand closed around hers. His grip was firm, so firm that she knew the only way she’d get her hand back would be by making a fool of herself in a tug of war she’d never win.

She’d just have to wait until he decided to let go.

Okay. One point to the big guy. He was, yes, big and muscled and tough, but perhaps he wasn’t entirely stupid.

“Oh,” she said sweetly, “sorry. I’m bad at remembering names.”

She saw her sister blink. Well, why wouldn’t she? Bianca wasn’t bad at remembering anything, and Alessandra knew it. Names. Dates. The titles of books she’d read a decade ago. In fact, she had close to a photographic memory. It was one of the reasons she’d graduated from New York University with a perfect four-point-oh GPA, why she was heading for her doctorate at a speed her adviser called amazing.

“Unless the names are important, of course,” she added, with a quick and, she hoped, blinding smile.

Olivieri’s green eyes narrowed to slits that all but glowed with intensity. Her sister made the kind of sound a carp might make if it found itself gasping for air on dry land.

Her brother-in-law threw out a lifeline.

“Bianca,” he said brightly. “Excellent timing. We’re just deciding where to have dinner. Thai? Or Italian? You have a preference?”

Chay Olivieri’s eyes were still locked on hers. She wanted to say that what she wanted for dinner was nothing, but why let him think he’d won the round? She shrugged her shoulders.

“Whatever you decide is fine.”

Tanner and Alessandra exchanged looks. “Uh,” Tanner said, “how about the two of you sitting down?”

He made it sound like they were on a date. She started to say she was fine standing up, but the lieutenant chose that moment to let go of her hand, step aside politely—as if he weren’t a hulking brute—and motion her into the booth.

A booth where she’d be trapped between him and the wall.

“That’s all right,” she said quickly. “I mean, if we’re leaving to go somewhere else…”

“We’re going to have a beer first,” Olivieri said. His eyes met hers again. The burning intensity had given way to cool mockery. “If that meets with your approval, of course, Ms. Wilde. Or should that be Bellini-Wilde?” His smile was tight. “I wouldn’t want to get that wrong.”

“Chay,” Tanner said, “listen, bro—”

“Can I get you ladies something?”

Alessandra looked up at the waitress. “Ale for me, please,” she said. “The same as they’re having.”

The waitress nodded and looked at Bianca. “What about you, miss? What would you like?”

Hemlock, Bianca thought. An enormous glass of it for the man whose body was pinning her to the wall. Or would have pinned her to the wall if she hadn’t taken off her shoulder bag and set it between them.

“Miss?”

“Uh, I’d like some water, please.”