She squeezed me so fucking hard before her heat and mine came together in a rush.
Refusing to separate, I held myself over her using my elbows. We kissed—almost frantic, desperate, longing for more, enough never enough.
As our pace slowed, I looked over her, watching as tears slid out of the corners of her eyes. I used my tongue to trace the trail of one.
She slid her palm against mine and then wove our fingers together. “I’m not me without you.” she sighed. “I go wherever you go.”
“Always,” I said, and then took us wherever we wanted to go.
Chapter Seven
Brando
Thursday came, and as soon as Scarlett and I walked through the door to our brownstone, she flew up the stairs, afraid she had missed out on something important. She was still stoked over Cerise’s visit the day before, and the momentum was going strong.
Nino and Guido stepped in behind us, carting boxes of food from one of the Italian restaurants Rocco and I owned.
At seven sharp, a knock rang at the door. Guido went to get it, but I held a hand up and answered it myself.
Burgess O'Sullivan stood on the other side. Eyes up, hat off. “Seven sharp,” he said. “I suppose Eunice is still getting ready?”
“I take it this isn’t your first date.”
He smiled.
Scarlett popped up beside me. “Come in, Mr. O’Sullivan. Let me take your coat.”
“Ah, don't fuss over me, darlin’. I'm just going to put it back on in a few minutes.” He took a breath. “I’m assuming a few minutes?”
“Yes.” Scarlett laughed and took his coat anyway.
The old barman/cop was dressed dapper. He’d even bothered to slick down the small hairs that sprouted from his head and put on cologne—or as Mitch called it, nose karate.
“Did you get the tickets I sent?” Scarlett directed him toward the living room.
Violet appeared out of nowhere and stuck a cup of coffee in his hand. He muttered,“Thank you, darlin’,” and took a sip.
At his arrival, the crowd of people on the sofa or eating at the table, surrounded by wedding planning books, had all raised their heads, waved, and said hello. He lifted the cup to them in salute and then turned his attention to Scarlett.
“I did,” Burgess said. “Thank you. O’Brian sends his thanks as well.”
“I added two extra, just in case,” she said, a sly undertone to her voice. “Double dates are fun, Mr. O’Sullivan.”
“Stop calling me Mr. O’Sullivan. Makes me feel old, especially in the presence of a beautiful woman such as yourself.” He winked.
Scarlett went pink and then patted him on the shoulder before going into the kitchen. “Now or later?” her voice drifted out.
“Later.” I had things to do before I ate. “You get started. You've had a long day.”
Dinner never started without each other. It was one of our things. But she had salad to eat before the main course—she was a slow eater.
“What a woman.” He wiggled his brows at me. They reminded me of two salt-and-pepper caterpillars.
“Stop trying to sweet-talk my wife, O’Sullivan.”
He cleared the thickness from his throat. “I’m old,” he croaked out, trying to make himself sound feeble. “Have a heart.”
The entire room started to laugh. Notes of it even drifted in from the kitchen. Tito waved O’Sullivan over, offering him antipasto and other food items. The talk turned to boxing. Tito was thrilled with the entire sport. The women in the room started to flip through wedding paraphernalia.
