“Boss don’t like guns in his house,” the suit guy stops him. Murphy starts to growl something, but I raise a hand.
“Leave it,” I snap impatiently. “You can go now.”
“But, Miss McErlane,” he starts to object.
“I said you can go, you gormless gobshite!” My voice is sharper. “I’m here. You’ve done your fucking job.” What’s he planning to do anyhow? Start a freaking war the first night I arrive? That fucking ship has sailed. If they were going to stop this lunacy, my bastard father would never have accepted that bet in the first place. And fucking Murphy wouldn’t have stopped me from bolting.
There’s a reluctant grumble, and then I sense him turn away. The ding of the elevator tells me that Parker and I have been left. Alone in the lion’s den.
Don’t be such a drama queen, Emma.
The guy in the suit reaches a hand out to me, and I slap his fingers away.
“Piss off and get your mitts away from the motherfucking merchandise, you poncy pillock,” I snap. He frowns slightly.
“Good evening, Miss McErlane,” he goes on regardless. “I am Mario Barucci, Mr. Caraldi’s executive director. I am here to make your stay as pleasant as possible.”
“Mystay?” I scoff. “You mean my sex slavery?” I look around and sniff dismissively. “Where’s that manky mingebag anyhow? Still rogering his skanks?”
“Uh…Miss McErlane, I…er…” He almost seems relieved when a voice calls out from within the apartment.
“Is that her?” I hear Raoul, and something clenches and then surges inside me.
“Yes, Boss,” Mario calls back, looking at me cautiously. I’m guessing he’s trying to figure out how to guide me to wherever Raoul is without getting kicked in the nuts. I put him out of his misery and storm in the direction of the voice. The music grows louder as I keep walking. I slide to a halt at the sight of a large white piano that takes up a corner of the room.
The music stops as Raoul rises from behind it and locks eyes with me.
No fucking way! The man plays piano?
“Welcome home, Buttercup,” he says, walking around the musical instrument and heading toward me.
“Home?” I snort. I fold my arms over my chest, trying not to take in the sight of him. It’s hard, though. So damned hard. His hair’s freshly washed and curling damply onto the collar of a black turtleneck sweater that looks like it was designed to mold to the broad lines of his chest. He’s pushed the sleeves up to reveal strong forearms, and I catch the tiniest glimpse of tattoo ink. It has my mouth going dry again.
“Yes, home,” he repeats. Mario has reached my side, eyes darting from Raoul to me.
“Sorry, Boss. I can’t quite figure out what she was talking about.”
Raoul doesn’t take his eyes off me, but he makes a dismissive gesture with one hand before sinking them into the pockets of charcoal-gray pants.
“You’ll get used to it, Mario. She speaks British…and smut.” He cocks his head at me, then runs his eyes over me.
“Screw you, tosser.” I curl my lip at him. “Shall I just strip off here so you can fuck me on the piano?” I snap.
“Would you like me to…Emma?” His voice is silken. It’s the first time I’ve heard my name on his lips, and it feels like a caress.
“I…uh…”
Oh. Shit.
Mario steps back and puts distance between us. As if fucking me on the piano might be a very real possibility. Raoul’s eyes remain on me until I feel color burning my cheeks. He turns away abruptly, reaching for a whisky tumbler.
“Go and unpack your things,” he says, glancing at me over the rim of his glass. “Mario will show you where your room is. There’s accommodation for your…nanny.” He glances at Parker, who’s been hovering uncertainly. I snort at him and spin on my heel, hoping it’s not obvious that I don’t have a snappy comeback.
I have my own room…thank fuck!
Chapter 12
Emma McErlane
