Off the Record (With Me in Seattle Mafia 3)

“Hell, no.” Her grin doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll never set foot in that room again. I’d rather not be here, but it’s not for much longer.”

She doesn’t meet my gaze as she unzips one bag and starts emptying dirty laundry into a basket.

“How can I help?” Jesus, I want to touch her. I want to pull her to me and kiss the fuck out of her like I used to. It used to be that I didn’t have to ask to be near her. We were like magnets; we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other.

I used to know every little detail about her.

And now, she might as well be a stranger.

It makes me fucking crazy.

“Rafe, you’ve gone above and beyond,” she says with a small sigh. “I’ll set the alarm after you leave. Everything should be just fine here.”

I scowl and can’t hold back from reaching for her. I take her hand in mine, and she looks up in surprise.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Of course, you’re leaving.”

“Annika, I’m here to protect you. I can’t do that from some hotel room.”

“Listen, Rafe, I appreciate that you want to help, but—”

“Is that what you think this is? That I’m just here to help like I’m some fucking Boy Scout, A?”

“You’re my friend.”

I push a hand through my hair and have to clench my jaw so I don’t yell that I’m here because I’m in love with her.

I’ve been in love with her for almost a decade, goddamn it.

“Yeah. I’m your friend.” I can’t help that the word friend sounds like a dirty word. “I’m not leaving.”

“Well, you know what they say? You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

I narrow my eyes at her, and she just cocks a hip and sets her hand on it, nothing but stubbornness and sass.

God, I want to kiss her so badly, I ache with it.

But now is not the time. I don’t know when it’ll be the time.

“Fine.”

I turn and walk out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. I don’t stop until I get to my rental car, slamming the door behind me before settling in for a long damn night in the cramped space.

Because I’m not leaving, no matter what she fucking says.

What I said the other day is completely true. I want to eat her with a damn spoon and spank her, all at the same time. She’s infuriating. She always was, but now that I can’t touch her, be with her, it’s even more so.

Damn woman.

I’ve just reclined the seat and found an easy-listening station on the radio when Annika opens her front door, frowns and me, and comes stomping to the car.

I roll down the window.

“Problem?” I ask.

“What are you doing?”

“Listening to the radio. Keeping an eye out. You know, the usual.”

She shakes her head and blinks furiously, the way she does when she’s frustrated.

“Why are you out here in the car like a stalker?”

“Not a stalker. I’m on a stakeout. Since you won’t let me stay in there,”—I gesture to the house—“I’m going to be out here instead. It’s not the best of circumstances, but I have heat, and I can always order a pizza or something.”

“You’ll order a pizza.” She laughs and shakes her head. “And what? Tell them to deliver it to the car in my driveway?”

“Sure. Is that weird?”

“Yeah, Rafe, it’s weird. Just go to the hotel. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Like you said, I don’t have to go home, but I can’t stay here. Well, I’m not in there. And if you don’t want me in your driveway, I can park at the curb.”

She watches me for several seconds—to see if I’m bluffing, I’m sure.

I’m not.

“Fine. Have it your way. Stay in the car in the driveway, Rafe. You’ll last one night, and then you’ll be at the hotel tomorrow night.”

“Don’t bet on it, sweetheart.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“Hi, pot, I’m kettle.”

She growls in frustration and marches back to the house, glaring at me over her shoulder before slamming the door shut.

I hoped she’d cave and let me back inside. Hell, I’d settle for the couch at this point.

But that’s not my Annika. No, the woman has more backbone, more stubbornness in her little finger than most people have in their whole bodies.

It’s one of the reasons why I love her to distraction.

A pizza doesn’t sound half bad, so I make a call and entertain myself as I wait by checking in with my contacts to see if there’s been any additional chatter about the current situation with Annika.

There hasn’t been.

The pizza kid parks behind me, and I get out to intercept the pizza.

“Uh, hi,” he says and swallows hard. “That’s thirty-seven-fifty.”

I pass him a fifty. “Keep the change.”

“Solid. Thanks.” He flashes a smile. “Are you surprising someone with pizza or something?”