Fight For Her (More Than A Cowboy 1)

“You have no idea, do you?”

She frowned. “What?”

“The effect you have on people.”

Glancing away, I saw a flush creep up her neck.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the broken lights?” I asked, realizing I was mad at her for not telling me about it, although that was somewhat ridiculous since we barely knew each other.

She rolled her eyes, taking a lid off of another container. “It’s just kids and I didn’t think it was important.”

I frowned. I didn’t like the idea of anyone fucking with Emory, even if it was just kids. “Clearly Mr. Casale thought it was important enough to send over his son to fix it.”

“I assume they told you why they brought food and were fixing my lights?”

“Yeah.”

She opened another entree. Eggplant parmesan. Some red sauce got on her thumb and she licked it off. “He was just being courteous.”

Perhaps, but I’d heard of the Casale’s and they did more in Baltimore than just cook food. While they weren’t technically part of the mafia, they were certainly connected. From what Frank told me before Emory got home, his father was shrewd enough to offer protection where needed. While I was reassured to know she fell under the man’s sights, I wasn’t excited about the fact the old man thought she needed it.

“Did they knock out anyone else’s lights?”

She frowned, but when she did it, a cute little V formed at her brow. “I don’t think so.”

Why would someone just screw with her? “Do you have lights in back?”

She took off the lid of the last container, spaghetti and meatballs. “Yes, motion sensors.”

“Did they knock those out as well?”

That gave her pause and she looked to me. “I don’t know. I never go out the back because there’s no parking.” She went over to the back door, undid the deadbolt and opened it. She looked up and to the right where I assumed was an outdoor light, but I was looking down in front of her.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her back, not wanting her to step out onto her stoop in her bare feet. “Careful.” I indicated with my chin the broken bulb on the steps.

She sighed wearily as she looked down at the shards of glass, closed and flipped the deadbolt back into place. Turning, she leaned back against the door as if she was too worn out to keep herself up. Perhaps she was. She had no one to help her around the house anymore, even if it was just a teenager doing chores. A broken lightbulb wasn’t a difficult task to clean up, but she didn’t need to deal with some punk kid’s pranks, especially after a long day at work. “I’ll deal with it on Thursday when I’m off.”

No, she wouldn’t. I’d see it done, but I knew she’d bicker, so I said nothing more about it. “I think Marco has a crush on you.”

She grinned and I loved seeing her smile. “Yes, well, he’s going to have to stand in line.”

I took a step closer and put the Casales and broken lightbulbs out of my mind. “Oh, why’s that?”

She licked her lips and damned if I didn’t almost come in my pants. My eyes dropped to her mouth and wondered what she tasted like. “There’s this other guy,” she whispered, and her eyes lowered.

“Oh?” I had to touch her, so I ran a finger down the length of her bare arm and felt goose bumps rise. My breathing became uneven, the ache and need to taste her was so strong. “What about him?”

“He said—he said I would know when I wanted to kiss him.”

“And?” I leaned in closer.

“He also said I wouldn’t be nervous.” Her voice was soft, almost breathy.

I arched a brow. What would I do if she didn’t want to kiss me? I’d back away, but it would be one of the hardest fucking things I’d ever had to do. I also worried that once I had a taste of her I wouldn’t be able to let her go. “Are you?”

“Nervous? Hell, yes.” Her gaze lifted to mine. Held. “But I want to kiss you anyway.”

She wrapped her hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in so our lips collided. This wasn’t a sweet brush of lips. This was more. Tugging me closer, she obviously wanted more, but the little sound she made had me taking control.