Sweet and Vicious(Margarelli Brothers 1)

“Thanks,” I said as I handed back the phone. “Thanks for everything.”

His hand brushed mine and I nearly jumped at the shock that went through me.

“No need.”

“You saved me.”

“In my place. It never should have happened to begin with.”

“Your place?”

“Yeah. It’s my bar.”

Oh. I was right. He was rich. I shook my head at him.

“It’s not your fault. You can’t control everything.”

He gave me a funny smile.

“I can’t? You sure about that?”

I shook my head and exhaled.

“So . . . you said something about food?”

He gave me a smile that would have melted an iceberg, it was so friendly.

“Yes. I did.” He jerked his head. “Follow me.”

I followed him back into the bedroom and down a hall. I noticed ornate, antique-looking wallpaper, this time in peacock green and navy. The hallway widened into a square room that looked like an entry hall in a mansion with a round table in the center. Fresh flowers were in a vase and a set of keys rested on the glossy surface. To one side was a large state of the art kitchen, and to the other was a living room complete with a built-in entertainment system and a sectional couch.

I tried not to let my jaw hit the floor.

“Is this an . . . apartment?”

“It’s my suite. It’s a family home.”

“Wow,” I said, looking around in awe. An apartment inside a house. Privacy without separation. I liked it.

He paused and then turned back to the entry chamber. He pointed at a door that was slightly larger than the others.

“Don’t go beyond this door without me. Do you understand?”

I nodded, not understanding at all. I had no intention of following his rules and staying here a moment longer than I wanted to. Did he really think I would?

I shivered a little bit. It was clear that he did think I would. The way he spoke was full of authority.

He held his arm out and guided me back into the kitchen.

Chapter 7

Antonio

I stared hungrily as a forkful of homemade ravioli disappeared into a perfect rosebud mouth. Her face was literally perfect, but those lips were beyond. Soft, pretty, pouty, but not overly so. Very kissable. I want to bite those lips, I thought with a surge of pure lust. I want to eat her up. She chewed daintily, patting her mouth with a napkin before thanking me again for the ‘delicious’ food.

“I just heated it up. My aunt makes the pasta from scratch.”

“It just magically appears in your fridge?”

I shrugged, realizing how spoiled I must sound. But fuck it, I was an Italian man. Rich or poor, we were all spoiled when it came to food. And in our house, we were as far from poor as you could get. But none of our food was made by servants, even though we had plenty. My aunt had always done her best to make up for our lack of a mother. Italians showed love with food.

And my aunt loved me a lot. I was still her bambino. She still pinched my cheeks.

“You cooked the chicken,” she added charitably. “That is equally delicious.”

I smiled a little at that. I’d heated up the pasta, sautéed some broccoli rabe with garlic and olive oil, and grilled a couple of chicken breasts. I was tempted to break out the wine, but I had to remind myself that this wasn’t a date.

Not that I’d ever really been on a date. Women approached me. We drank and fucked. Rarely was there food involved. I always kicked them out before breakfast.

Wow, Tony, you sound like a real prince.

I frowned. I needed to be a prince for a girl like this. She was too good for me. Too pure.

This girl would never go out with a guy who had broken a guy’s fingers or cleaned out his bank account. And that was just in the past twenty-four hours. She sure as fuck wouldn’t be going out with a guy who’d stabbed someone in the neck. That was self-defense, I reminded myself. I’d never taken a life in cold blood. I would if I had to, or if my brother asked, but it hadn’t happened yet. That’s just the way things were. I owed him my blood oath. And I knew he wouldn’t ask unless there were no other choice. But I doubted she would see it that way.

I had killed. More than once. I would probably kill again.

But I didn’t want her to know that. I didn’t want her to see it. Even if she waltzed out of here and I never saw her again, I didn’t want her to think of me that way.

And fuck, I would be bitterly pissed off if I never got to watch her eat again. I was like a kid at the zoo, staring at some fascinating, exotic creature at feeding time. Only in this case, it was a stunningly beautiful girl.