Page 88 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation

He lets him go and looks at the Italian. “I know your father, too. You’re known as the fool. Talk to her, look at her in that way again?—”

“You’ll do to me what you just threatened to do to Nate?” The Italian sidles aside as he says this.

“No.” Seamus smiles and slings an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll let my capable and murderous wife use the weapon she keeps in her hair to gut you. Now move the fuck aside.”

He scuttles away, taking his friend, and I look up at Seamus. “Whiskey?”

“Whiskey. Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Fucking Seamus. He didn’t rush me out in a power move or to have sex with me. We got back to the house and he immediately left with Torin and two men I don’t know.

Members of their crime family, I guess. I get changed because the dress reminds me of Seamus, of his touches, of whatever it was in the bathroom where every word seemed to be so much more than its meaning. Where his touching me was like the pure essence of sex.

I pull on jeans and a light sweater and shove my feet into some sneakers.

But I leave my hair up, the combs in place. My weapons. I like that. I could even like?—

No. Nope. No way.

What I should be doing is waiting tables at the diner, but I called to ask for time off. Which, of course, they’re fine with. I suspect the owners knew Dad, or Mama, and just let me work there because they do suspiciously well for a place that isn’t ever busy.

So with nothing to do and the whiskey a slight buzz in my veins, I turn to go downstairs and almost scream.

There, in the doorway, is their black cat. It blinks green eyes at me. Behind it is the big dog. A German shepherd.

Watching.

The cat stretches.

“I don’t like cats,” I say. It looks at me.

The dog makes a noise that I swear sounds like disappointment.

“Or dogs.”

The cat slinks in, sleek, black, and shining. It winds figure eights through my just parted feet, rubbing against me.

The dog trots in, hovering, reminding me of some kind of canine version of a mother hen.

“Shit,” I whisper. “It’s not you guys. I just… I never… Pets aren’t my thing. People aren’t my thing. I cook. That’s the only real thing I have outside trying to get my bratva. And I don’t even have time to cook.”

What is wrong with me? I’m just… blabbering.

I reach down and gingerly pet the cat which purrs. His fur is so silky and soft, and the dog carefully makes his way to me.

He’s big and I don’t know what to do. So I hold out my hand and he sniffs, and then I give his soft head a pet, too.

And not sure what to do next, I scurry out of the room and down the stairs. Maybe I can check out the kitchen. Maybe…

But when I approach, laughter floats into the air, and the two friendly, happy voices of Harry and Lucie coil around me.

Like some kind of trap.

I turn and run back up to my room, closing the door with the pets and everyone else on the other side.

There’s a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, so I pop the top, take a swig, kick off the sneakers, and climb into bed, fully dressed.

My phone buzzes and I grab it, but it isn’t Seamus.