Lennon smacks Gunnar playfully with an oven mitt, Sandro’s arms still wrapped around her middle. “Instead of sticking your fingers in there, carry it to the table.” She raises an eyebrow at Rocco who was about to dip a spoon into the sauce.
He chuckles and holds up his hands. “Carry it to the table, got it.”
I’ve witnessed the violence these men are capable of, patched up dozens of bloody wounds, so to see them soft and almost reverent toward Lennon gives me a different perspective.I pull the hair tie from my hair and let it fall around my shoulders. “I’m going to go get Mac,” I say. “Be right back.”
Mac has insisted on walking, using a cane instead of the wheelchair. We make our way slowly to the dining room, where everyone but Lennon is already seated.
My gaze immediately finds Killian, whose eyes narrow in irritation as he looks from Mac to me.
Of course, Lennon would invite him. I should’ve known. He is her half-brother, after all. Maybe after dinner I can talk to him about a job dancing at his new gentlemen’s club. I help Mac to the empty chair on Killian’s right.
“Da,” Killian greets him, ignoring me.
Then I stand there like an idiot because there are only two empty chairs left. The one next to Sandro, which would be Lennon’s, and the one on Killian’s left. Guess I’m sitting next to the asshole.
You need him, Sam,I remind myself. Be on your best behavior.
“Look at this feast,” Mac exclaims. “Smells divine, love.”
Caelian, Sandro’s cousin and consigliere, adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses, smiling as he holds up his water glass. “Lennon and Sam, you two have outdone yourselves.Salute!”
Everyone joins in, thanking us and clinking glasses.
“Well, dig in before it gets cold,” Lennon says, winking at me, obviously pleased with our results.
The dishes get passed around, the Italian wine gets poured, the conversations and laughter begin to flow.
I hear Mac ask Killian if he’s set the date for the soft launch of The Lucky Sinner and glance over.
Killian nods and swallows a bite of food. “Next Friday. I need one more bartender but the bar’s stocked. I’ve got tryouts lined up for the dancers on Tuesday.”
Mac’s buttering a roll as he says, “Your cousin Quinn wants to come over to the states. You should give the lass a job.”
Killian’s head whips toward his father, a horrified look on his face. “Dancin’?”
Mac almost chokes on his bite of roll. Then his chest rumbles with a deep laugh. “God, no, Son. She’s pretty enough, sure, but that’s not the sort of thing you keep in the family. Bartendin’ maybe.”
Killian shakes his head. “I don’t need the kind of drama that comes with that lass, Da.”
Mac grunts disapprovingly. “Family’s family. We put up with more from ‘em cause they’re blood, yeah.”
I tune out the rest of their conversation, picking at my cuticle under the table. He’s already got the dancers lined up for interviews? I need to be in that line up.
As dinner progresses, I’m too aware of Killian. His body heat. His stolen glances at me. His darkening mood. I have to do something to soften him up before I ask him to let me try out. Gathering my courage, I turn to him. Unfortunately, he chooses that moment to lick a drop of red wine off his bottom lip. A flash of silver catches my eye. That damn piercing. Curiosity piques and warmth floods my core.
“You’re staring,” he growls, without looking my way.
The heat creeps up into my face. “I… I’m not.” Jesus.I’m not.Eloquent, Sam. “I mean, I wanted to ask you to pass the salt.”
He swings his gaze to lock eyes with me and my mouth goes dry, my pulse quickens. His gaze holds me captive, and I realize how much danger I’m in when his tongue flicks out once again, running over his bottom lip, my attention moving to it against my will.
“Say please,” he whispers, so low, only I can hear it.
Anger licks up my spine like a brushfire. “Fuck off,” I mouth.
A wicked smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. He reaches over without breaking eye contact, picks up the salt shaker and holds it between us.
I slip it from his fingers, being careful not to touch him. As warm as I am, I’m sure he’d be able to tell how he’s affecting me. I must be ovulating. Yeah, that’s it. It’s well known that women are attracted to assholes during ovulation. Stupid hormones. Stupid biology. I will not succumb to evolution’s feckless match-making. I’m an independent, educated woman who can clearly see the game for what it is. Rigged.
