“Stand down, McErlane,” says Roy. “I believe he’s our host for the evening.”
Host?
My head is spinning.
“Shite!” my dad spits. “You didn’t tell me we’d be schmoozing with these fucking dagos tonight, Robbins.”
Oh, thank God. This isn’t about me!
For a second, relief floods me. But then I’m paralyzed again. Because either way, I’m in a world of shit right now. My father and future husband are standing inches away from me. And mere meters away, coming closer with every passing second, is the man whose baby I’m carrying. A man whose name I didn’t even know until a minute ago.
I know it now, though.
Raoul Caraldi.
Among all of these thugs, this guy has managed to turn my father into a towering inferno of fury. Hate simmers like a heatwave around us.
He’s not looking at my dad, though. Eyes like liquid mercury have me pinned like a bug. And there’s nowhere to go. No way out. My father’s going to kill him if he finds out I’m carrying this man’s child. Probably me too.
Jesus, he’ll likely kill everybody.
This is going to be a complete fucking disaster!
Chapter 2
Raoul Caraldi
Idon’t care how fucking beautiful she is or that the sight of those lush curves has my cock hardening up. That woman is a problem.
“Raoul?” one of the girls at my side is tugging at the sleeve of my jacket. Where the fuck did she come from, anyhow? “Baby…are we going back to your place to party later?”
What?
I stare blankly at her for a second, pausing midstride as I try to figure out what she’s talking about. Blonde, beautiful…her dress could have been spraypainted on. She’s licking her lips and blinking up at me. Another hand through my other elbow is dragging against me.
What the actual fuck?
“Ladies, could we discuss this some other time?” I say.
This is your own fault, you ass. Too much partying. Now, look what you’ve done.
The blonde is pouting at me. Her friend, a busty redhead, exchanges a look with her. Before I can take another step forward, the pair are leaning in front of me, locking lips like there’s no tomorrow. They draw back and then stare up at me.
“Babe…” says the redhead. “You know, there’s always room for one more…if you know what I mean?” She slides her hand down my chest and then strokes a fingertip over my belt buckle. Before I realize what she’s about to do, she’s slid her hand over my crotch and is cupping my cock.
Is she for fucking real?
I peel her fingers from my groin.
“Not now,” I snap. “I’m working.”
Of course I’m working. Working on keeping my cool while the little witch who cleaned out my pockets is standing directly ahead of me. I brush the girls aside and close the distance between us. As I breach the circle surrounding her, I’m aware of the dangerous levels of tension. My own men have fallen in step behind me, forming a bank of muscle and menace. The Irish mobsters who have been circling like sharks have suddenly closed in on us, and I sense a wave of unspoken aggression in the air.
Tommy McErlane. Fuck it. He’d been half the reason I zoned in on the small group. Not to mention the slimy senator standing half in his pocket. The one I’m supposed to be buttering up. Goddammit.
How the fuck did McErlane get on the guest list?
As I reach the center of the circle, there’s a swish of surreptitious shifts in posture. Hard men packing guns. They shouldn’t be. The rules were to leave all weapons at the door. Clearly, this lot didn’t get the memo. And I suspect the greaseball politician had something to do with it.
