“I think…” he looks surprised, like I’m a gerbil that just started spouting calculus. “That’s a grand idea. Brilliant, in fact.”
“I took business classes,” I say haughtily. “My minor in college.”
“Well done,” he says, leaning down to kiss me. “What does Martha think about it?”
“I didn’t want to discuss it with her until I knew if it was a possibility,” I answer honestly.
Pulling me to my feet, he looks at me, examining my expression, bringing me closer until I’m pressed against him.
“I dinnae know it was possible to find yet another way that ye could turn me on, but there it is. Your business sense.” With some alarm, I can feel him growing hard against my stomach. “Come on then,” he groans. “Let’s get this dinner over with.”
“It's a waste of this private room,” Michael grumbles, his hand firm on my lower back as he guides me over to our table.
"What do you mean? It’s beautiful here,” I say. The alcove is surrounded by two distressed brick walls. The other sides are glassed-in, with windows that overlook Edinburgh and there's a door for servers to discreetly slip in and out.
“Why do you say it's a waste?” I ask.
“Because if we weren't forced to meet this arsehole, I could have ye up against one of these windows. Ye could watch the city as Ifeck ye from behind, butterfly.” He rests his hands on my waist, his thumbs stroking and circling over my hip bones.
He really shouldn't be talking like this. When Michael is in business mode, he never deviates back into the filthy Michael, I often get at home. And always deeply appreciated.
"Well, now you've got me sad about it too,” I stumble over the words, blushing furiously. “Anything I need to know about this client?”
“His family's mafia runs a drug trade through Sydney. He says he's interested in our unregulated pharmaceutical line and wants to bring shipments down to Australia. He’s the third son and I’m thinking this is the first time Daddy’s given him any responsibility. He’s thirty-eight, but he dinnae act it.”
Michael irritably straightens his cuffs. He looks so good, his dark hair swept back, broad shoulders filling out that suit jacket so nicely…
“He's also an arrogant prick."
"Yeah he sounds like a lot of fun," I say. “Maybe you can make a quick deal and then send him off to one of your Uncle Lachlan's sex clubs. That should keep him busy."
Michael smiles at me with a certain sexy and sinister glee. “He'syourUncle Lachlan now too. I’m thinking we might visit one of his clubs sometime soon.”
I didn’t see that one coming…
Rory Carmichael is pretty much everything that Michael described; blonde and tan, bloodshot eyes with a compulsive sniffing habit that makes him look like he either has severe allergies or indulges in too much of his own product. I'm guessing the latter.
There is one pleasant surprise, he brought his sister Carrie with him. She's also blonde and in her early 30s, and I'm pretty sure inherited most of the brains in the family. The McTavish clan may have no problem putting women into leadership positions, but unfortunately, not all the crime world has been as eager to catch up. In any other sensible mafia, Carrie would be running the show, not her drug-addled brother. “A pleasure,” she says warmly, giving my hand a firm shake.
The conversation at first is pleasant, a little stilted. Though things start warming up by the main course of braised lamb with parmesan orzo.
“Our lamb is better in Australia," Rory grumbles, shoving another piece into his mouth. I catch Carrie’s fingers tightening on her fork, but other than that, she remains composed and pleasant.
Unfortunately, by the time the Campanelli pasta with orange zest is served, Rory is drunk enough to be bold.
“These prices are ridiculous,” he says. “Think about it, I'm giving you access into all of Australia. Fifty percent is more than generous.”
“Not when you're expecting me to handle the shipping margins,”Michael says evenly.
Then, Rory makes his last mistake of the night. He points his fork and says, “What? I know some of your partners have been jumping ship. Things getting a bit sloppy, hey? This is an opportunity you should be grateful to pick up!”
All I see is a flash of silver, and then hear the shrill scream as Rory looks down at his hand, the fork clattering from his fingers.
Because Michael shoved his knife through Rory’s hand, pinning it to the table.
Holy shit,Jordan whispers.That’s hardcore.
"Shut your mouth, Rory," Carrie says sharply. She’s careful not to make any sudden moves, watching her brother twitch like a landed trout. Turning to us, she says smoothly, "My apologies for my brother. He is, as you can see, very eager to start business with you, but apparently, left his good manners - and good sense - back in Bondi Beach.”
