I shrug. “And tell them what? That I’m in your house entirely legally?”
“That you’re…” She pauses and thinks, glancing around for inspiration. “Stalking me.”
“I don’t think one meeting and then moving into avacant room in your house share counts as stalking. A pattern should be three things, right?”
I’m enjoying this. A crossing of wits.
Her lips flatten as she sees that I’ve manoeuvred her into a situation where she has to do exactly what I want. She thinks for a second.
“Fine.” She smiles too brightly. “No problem. I’ll move out.”
“Really?” I raise my uninjured arm to the back of the sofa so I’m sprawled, taking up the space, and gaze trained on her. I’ve changed since I last saw her in the hospital, and despite my inconvenient wound, I don’t want her imagining I don’t have strength. “You’ll discover no one can provide you with a room. Certainly not within a reasonable commute of the hospital.”
Her smile falls, replaced by shock and then understanding. “I’ll ask a friend.”
“You’d do that to your friend?” I reply, allowing a bit of menace into the words. “A few of my men are around the house.” I circle my uninjured hand expressively. “But I don’t want to have to use them. So crass.”
“This is basically kidnap, but in my own home.” She says it as though it’s news to me.
“A kidnap delivery service.” I didn’t realise an in-place kidnap would be far more fun than taking her to my house.
“I didn’t order one,” she points out.
“It’s free for the low, low price of looking after my injury.” I’m resisting smiling. Which is absurd, given my arm is throbbing with the promise of agony once the painkillers wear off, and the meeting with Loughton was a disaster that turned bloody.
“After you lost your last medic so carelessly.” She raises her eyebrows.
A pang goes through me. I hate it when I lose men. It’s part of the job of leading a mafia, it never ceases to weigh on me. We killed Loughton, and two of his men, but that hardly makes up for it.
“It wasn’t careless. But yes, he’s dead.” My brain replays the moment he died in the chaos of the shootout. And then the longer, more painful moments. Telling his family this afternoon while Jack and the others sorted the move to this house. The inadequacy of money to make up for the loss to the man’s family.
“I’d like to return my reverse kidnapping.” There’s an edge of healthy fear behind the brave words, but also a hint of teasing.
“All purchases are final.”
“You’re diabolical,” she says sweetly.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” It’s also true.
She sighs, but it’s a sort of exasperated sound, and throughout our conversation she has let go of her bag, and relaxed back onto the sofa. She’s strong, my girl.
Ahh… I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. She’s just a lovely young woman who’s going to help me heal, then I’ll let her go.
That thought is like a burr, scratching at me.
But I am forty-nine years old. I discovered in my investigations since we met that she’s twenty-three years old. Any idea of us together is filthy. Wrong. Forbidden. A man with decent morals wouldn’t go near her.
My morals are grey, at best.
I can tolerate her touch, though. Maybe even I could like it? I’m drawn to this girl.
And she’ll only tend my wounds. But shewilldo that.
“You can make this difficult, Callie, or accept it’s inevitable.” Look how reasonable I’m being. “You’re a nurse.I don’t want to have to persuade you to do your job. I’d much rather just pay you, as I first suggested.”
She drags her gaze down my body, no doubt taking in the custom-tailored suit and the shoes that probably cost more than her rent.
“Pay me. You mean the offer to be your nurse,” she clarifies.
