“Do I look like I need help?” I snap, reaching past her for a paper towel to blot up the mess I’ve made.
“Really,” she insists. “Let me help with dinner.”
I don’t feel like arguing with her, and she’s got her stubborn face on. It’s been a long fucking day.
“Fine.” I point to the lemon I abandoned on the counter. “Zest that lemon.”
That way, she’ll be far enough away that I won’t be tempted to see if her nipples are hard.
“The whole thing?”
“Yes.”
We cook in a tense silence for a bit, the sizzling peppercorns mingling with the steady sound of the zester sloughing over lemon rind.
“So I guess I should thank you for letting me stay here,” she says.
“Don’t sound so grateful. I might get a complex.”
“Look, it’s not every day that I’m almost kidnapped by a Russian mobster and then abducted by a Mafia consigliere instead.”
“I didn’t abduct you.”
“Forcibly detained?”
She’s trying to lighten the mood, but that’s dangerous territory. I can’t afford to go back to that night in St. Thomas, to the easiness between us, the way we just clicked, how we fit together so well. Things are different here.I’mdifferent here.
“You’re here because it’s where you need to be,” I tell her, taking the peppercorns from the pan with a slotted spoon. “I’m doing what I have to for Priest. It’s my duty. If you get taken by the Bratva, it’s not going to be pretty for me.”
“What do you mean?” She sidles closer, bringing the cutting board and lemon she’s been zesting with her, sounding curious. “You’re not saying that Priest would hurt you if something happened to me, are you?”
“If I don’t do my duty, it’s his obligation to take care of me.” I backtrack to the fridge, opening it to fetch the bowl of peeled, deveined shrimp I have at the ready. “You’re not allergic to shrimp, are you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I stalk back to the pan with my spoils.
“You didn’t ask me if I like them, though,” she points out.
“Doesn’t matter if you do. It’s what’s for dinner.”
“Okay, fair enough.” She pauses for a beat, still zesting away. “I do like them, by the way.”
I don’t say anything. The water is boiling in the pot, so I toss in a package of vermicelli. It’s not homemade likeZiaMaria’s pasta, but it’s imported from Italy and not a bad second.
“Are you saying that your brother would kill you if you didn’t do your duty, as you put it?”
I cast an irritated look in her direction, and fuck. I can’t help noticing. Her nipplesarehard.
“I’m saying that he’s the don. My loyalty is to him above everything else. I’m here to facilitate the best interests of the family. He calls the shots.”
Literally.
She huffs out a breath, and I wonder what she’s thinking, even though I shouldn’t. To distract myself, I crush some garlic and add it to my hot pan. I don’t like the way she makes me feel. I’m raw, like a new wound that hasn’t been stitched up yet, and it’s no good.
“You finished with the lemon?” I ask sharply.
