She shook her head with a sigh. Maybe there was a handbook somewhere on how to deal with a bossy alpha male? With one last toe-curling kiss, he turned towards the path. Leaving Claire to wonder if she had the skills needed to handle a man like Grunt.
16
Jena thought Sunday lunch with Matt’s family would be a relaxing affair. Maybe even a little dull. That was before Matt’s mother, Heather, led one of Frank’s goons into the kitchen.
“No,” Jena shouted, grabbed her purse and made a run for the back door.
Matt snagged the back of her purple wraparound dress and held on tight.
“Stay,” he snapped.
“Do I look like your freaking poodle?” Jena snapped back, giving him the words he’d used on Bob the butcher.
Matt ignored her. Instead he turned to Mr No-Neck Mob Hitman. “What are you doing here? If Frank wants to talk, he can come to the station. In the meantime, you can get out.”
“Matt!” His mother looked like she was ready to smack him. “I didn’t raise you to be rude.”
The goon kept his eyes on Matt. “I’m not here for Frank Di Marco. This has nothing to do with him.”
Jena tried to prise Matt’s fingers from the neck of her dress. If there was going to be a fight, she wanted to be far, far away—even if dinner did smell delicious and her stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard.
“Leave. Now. Before this becomes messy.” Matt was coiled tight, ready to pounce.
“What’s going on?” One
of the twins said as she came into the room. Her arms were full of Tupperware boxes, filled with what looked like cookies. Jena’s mouth watered at the sight.
“We have an unwanted guest, Claire.” Matt’s jaw clenched. Jena tried to appear invisible. “This isn’t the place to talk about Jena. You need to leave, Grunt. Before I forget my manners.”
“What manners?” Claire smacked the containers onto the countertop. “Samuel is my guest. Do you see me trying to kick Jena out? No. You don’t.”
Matt’s gaze snapped to his sister, and Jena cringed. She was so glad he wasn’t her brother. Claire looked fit to spit. His mother looked annoyed and about ten seconds away from putting a stop to the confrontation happening in her kitchen—by any means necessary.
“What do you mean he’s your guest?” Matt’s voice was a low, threatening rumble.
Claire’s face flushed. “I mean he’s with me. I invited him, kind of…”
There was a deathly silence. Jena wished Matt would forget about her and let go of her dress. Instead his grip tightened.
“You’re dating him?”
Everything within Jena screamed for her to run. The air crackled with the warning. The red in Claire’s cheeks deepened. She tucked her long blonde hair behind her ear. The goon frowned, his jaw hardened and he stepped closer to Claire. Positioning himself between Matt and his sister. His fists flexed as his posture loosened. She’d seen that stance before—he was getting ready to fight. No, not fight—defend Claire. Jena’s eyebrows tried to crawl up her forehead. Poop in a bucket, the goon was crazy about Matt’s sister. World War Three was about to start in Heather Donaldson’s kitchen. And Jena was trapped in the middle of it.
She took a deep breath as her sense of self-preservation kicked into overdrive. “Okay, so this has nothing to do with me. This is obviously a family thing. Best if I go. Don’t worry, I’ll see myself home.” She tugged at Matt’s grip as she tried to walk towards the door.
“I don’t think so.” He yanked her back. “Well?” he demanded of Claire.
“Yes.” She glared at her brother. “If you must know, which you really don’t, I am dating Samuel.”
Samuel the goon cocked an eyebrow at Claire. “It’s more than dating. You know it.”
Claire seemed to have trouble breathing for a minute as her gaze locked with his.
Heather gasped. “It’s the family curse. I’ll get my wedding dress dry-cleaned. You’ll be needing it.”
Matt shot his mother a look that said “what the hell, woman?” before returning his attention to Grunt. Jena didn’t think the atmosphere in the room could get any tenser. But it did.
“What games are you playing?” Matt said. “I won’t let you, or Frank, use my sister to get to Jena.”