Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

“I’ll look into it, but for the record, I strongly disapprove,” Adrian states.

“What else is new?” Mateo asks.

“Hire Hunt instead. He’s already retired, so he can do a job and disappear. Also, he hasn’t hit on Mia, so I like him a lot more.”

Mateo smirks at that last bit.

“What’s the side gig?” I ask, more than a little paranoid. This Ryder guy must be a hit man, and he seems to have caught Mateo’s interest by offering to commit a murder, so of course Vince is the first person who comes to mind.

Mateo finally approaches me, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. He drops a kiss on top of my head. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

That doesn’t do anything to lessen my anxiety. “You’re not going to kill Vince, right?”

Ignoring my question, Mateo meets my gaze with his warm brown eyes, holding his attention on me. The frantic feel of everything that’s happening starts to drift away as he invites me into his calm, his control. His hands come to rest on my hips and he pulls my hips against his, then leans his forehead against mine.

Everything is quiet and calm and peaceful. Contentment moves through me and leaves no room for anxiety.

“You know what we’re going to do now?” Mateo asks, his deep voice steady.

“What are we going to do now?”

“We’re going to go back to the reception. I’m going to take you out on that dance floor, and we are going to enjoy the rest of our night.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull myself up to give him a kiss. “That sounds wonderful.”

He nods once, then leans in to kiss my neck. His perfect lips in that sensitive nook send shivers of pleasure all through my body.

“Then, when all these people finally leave, do you know what we’re going to do?”

“Go to our room and spend the whole night doing impossibly dirty things to one another?”

He leans back and closes his eyes, sighing contentedly. “Yes.”

I can’t help smiling. “Life is good.”

“Much better with you in it.”

I beam, leaning in and giving him a kiss.

I only realize once we’re halfway to the dance floor that I totally forgot he never answered my question about killing Vince. Since it’s not happening in the next hour or so, though, I decide to wait until later. I’ll remember to revisit once the wedding is over. I don’t want to talk about Vince at my wedding.

Some of my calm slips when I see Ben and Jessica stroll through our yard. I don’t know why, but it makes me angrier to see her than him. She was such a bitch to me in Vegas—and a self-admitted gold digger, so I really don’t even want her looking at Mateo.

Mateo stayed with me while we waited, but now that we’re approaching Vince’s father, I can sense the shift in him. His hand rests around my waist, his carriage calmly authoritative, but the sight of various armed men hanging nearby—keeping an eye on this situation—completely kills any pretense of this being a friendly interaction. Mateo’s fingers dig into my hip a little harder. I wrap my arm around him and lean into his side, wishing I could absorb his negative feelings.

As predicted, Jessica is already looking Mateo up and down. The look on her face tells me she now has a slightly better understanding of why I was so keen on coming home.

When we approach one another, I expect Mateo to extend his hand the way I’ve seen him do a million times over. The way he did to Rafe, when he had first escorted me back from Vegas and I didn’t know what to expect.

It doesn’t happen. Neither man moves. They stop walking about a foot apart and stare at each other, each apparently waiting for the other to speak.

The rigid pause lingers so long, Jessica and I start looking at each other anxiously, like maybe we should say hi. We don’t like one another, but the tension running through both men is off the charts. Mateo generally shares his calm, his control, his strength with me, but now from the grip of his hand on my hip to the heat coming off his body in waves, all I can feel is carefully contained fury.

Jessica finally clears her throat, then glances at the men around us. They’re far enough away that they’re not crowding us, but near enough to intervene, should there be a reason.

She looks like a sex kitten in a short, tight leopard print dress with shimmery gold panels on each side. I don’t actually like the dress at all, but her necklace is even less my taste, so it’s all I can think to compliment.

“I like your dress,” I finally blurt.

Jessica grabs onto my empty compliment like a life raft. “Thank you. I also—your dress is really elegant. You look beautiful.”