Shane (Mallick Brothers 1)

“Well, now that we got the embarrassing part of the evening over with,” I said, trying to shake off the way my skin seemed to spark from the contact with his body, “let’s eat.”

The inside of Famiglia had less of the sea vibe than the outside, sporting a long, dark wood bar with a wine wall behind it, all the bottles laying sideways so you could read the labels. The floors were dark, wide-planked, shining. The walls were painted a deep chocolate color and the tablecloths were not quite white but not quite beige either, but something in between. Music floated around the room, gently rising over the conversation, slow and bluesy, but in a foreign language. With a name like Famiglia, it wasn’t hard to guess it was Italian. The centerpieces to each of the intimate two-or-four seating tables were tiny little bay leaf plants in glass, understated and classy while hinting at the kind of food served. Toward the very back of the restaurant was a wall of intimate booths that curled into themselves with only small openings to enter and leave from, offering privacy.

Really, it was the nicest restaurant I had ever been in in my life.

“Shane Mallick,” Shane told the short, stacked, black-haired, olive-skinned hostess in a tight black dress.

Her head snapped up a little, like the name meant something, before she gave us a smile. Well, she gave Shane a smile. I was ignored. I couldn’t say I was exactly the jealous sort, but it rubbed me the wrong way when someone eye-fucked the guy I was literally on the arm of. “Of course, Mr. Mallick. We have the booth you requested,” she said, gathering the menus and giving him another mega-watt smile. “Right this way please,” she said, leading us down the side near the bar toward the back wall.

“Of course you’d request a booth,” I said with a pointed brow raise.

He didn’t even bother to look confused. “What? I finally get your stubborn ass to stop avoiding me, you think I am going to sit across the table from you the entire date? No thanks.”

“Mr. Grassi will be over to greet you in just a moment,” the hostess said, still not having looked at me, but checking out Shane like she had never seen a man before.

“Thank you,” I said when Shane didn’t, tone a little sharp and dismissive, making her look my way. Where I expected to see a bit of embarrassment or guilt, all I saw was challenge. She turned and walked away and Shane chuckled. “What?” I asked, taking the menu he offered me.

“Baby, I swear every man in here got half hard from you just walking in. Didn’t see me staring daggers at any of them.”

“Looking is one thing,” I said with a shrug, though I was pretty sure no one had been looking at me that hard. “Eye-fucking is a complete other.”

“Eye-fucking,” he repeated, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to smile.

“Yeah, eye-fucking. It’s a thing. How can you not know you’ve just been eye-fucked?”

He let the smile loose then, shaking his head at me. “You’re a trip,” he said as another figure cast a shadow over our table.

“Shane,” a deep, smooth voice said. It was the kind of voice that could make a woman shiver just from hearing it, the kind of voice that could make a textbook on traffic patterns sound like a serenade. Looking up, I saw first an expensive and carefully tailored charcoal gray suit that fit the man’s long, lean, swimmer’s build perfectly. Further up, there was a face belonging to a statue, all jaw and strong brows. But the eyes, oh, the eyes were what did you in. They were dark, almost black, and framed with thick lashes that Fee had tried to create artificially on me with curlers and mascara. His black hair was pushed back, further accentuating his classically handsome features and perfect skin tone.

“Luca,” Shane said, standing and shaking the man’s hand. “How have you been?”

“No complaints,” he said, looking over at me, expecting Shane to remember his manners.

“Luca, this is Lea. Lea, this is Luca, one of the owners of this place,” he explained, leaving out the little nugget that Fee told me about him being some kind of mob member who ran the docks.

“Lea, a pleasure,” he said, taking my hand and giving it a little squeeze instead of kissing it. Thankfully, because I was sure I would blush and giggle like a schoolgirl if he tried that nonsense. “I am going to send your server over with some wine. And I’m sure my father will be dropping over at some point.” Shane sat back down as the man spoke. “I will leave you to your meal. Lea, welcome to Famiglia,” he said before walking away.