Page 15 of The Mobster’s Nurse

Or maybe I just want an excuse to see her again.

I enter the stable complex and notice how unusually quiet it is. I wander along one of the rows of horse stalls past a few bobbing heads. The horses wisely ignore me. Turning a corner, I hear Ellie’s soft voice from the farthest stall. Lucky Charm’s stall. I step lightly and spot her through the adjoining stall. She’s standing up close to Lucky Charm, whispering, stroking her nose while brushing her mane. She sings a quiet lullaby.

In the very short time that I’ve known Ellie —all of just two days, although it feels much longer— I have never seen her looking so relaxed, so peaceful.

She doesn’t notice me.

I stand watching, listening to her voice for longer than I should.

6

ELLIE & LUCA

Ellie

I'm in the stables, brushing Lucky Charm's mane. She purrs softly, nuzzling my brushing hand. It's the sort of calming task I need after the standoff with Daryl.

The door creaks open. I turn to find Luca filling the frame, wearing just a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His forearms twitch with muscle as he approaches. Every inch of him seems pent-up, ready for something … but for what?

He stops close to me. His eyes burn red and hungry.

"Did you know?" he growls.

"Know what?" I snap. I need to keep this wall up, sassiness, feistiness, fire, whatever.

Even closer. I can feel his heat. Smell his cologne, or is it just his musky scent? "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't know who's behind this."

I swallow, avert my gaze.

He reaches forward and touches my face with surprising gentleness. I'm achingly aware that we're completely alone. He moves my face so I'm facing him again.

"Tell me."

I reach up. Grab his wrist.

I mean to push his hand away. Instead, I'm just holding onto his wrist, feeling his pulse. Strong and fast. He's not as composed as he looks.

"You're not as calm as you're pretending," I say.

Something flickers in his eyes. Not anger. Recognition.

"No," he agrees. "I'm not."

That honesty undoes me faster than anything else could have.

My heart picks up way too fast, my nipples press hot against my bra like my body’s reminding me of yesterday.

"This is none of my business," I hiss. "I can tell you this. I am not involved. Otherwise, I want nothing to do with it. You sound like you already know. So, what do you need me for?"

He slides his hand down to my neck, my arm. He takes my hand. Pulls me closer. His other hand goes to my hip like it's metal and he's a magnet. He makes a groaning sound as his fingers find my soft curves.

"That's a dangerous question to ask," he growls. "What do I need you for, Ellie? Try — everything."

Tell him to stop.

That thought lasts about half a second. Because the truth — the honest, humiliating, thrilling truth — is that I don't want to stop. I haven't wanted to stop since yesterday. Every hour I've spent in these stables trying not to think about him has just been practice for how badly I'd fail at the real thing.

So when he lifts me, I don't fight it. My legs wrap around him because that is what I want them to do.