Family Ties (Morelli Family 4)

“You can. I’m going home.” Flashing me a grin, she says, “If you want to take me out, you can pick me up there.”

My smile stalls. “You just said you’d go.”

“I’m a Morelli,” she states, buckling her seat belt. “We lie to get what we want.”

“Well, I’m a Castellanos; we never give up,” I inform her.

“We’ll see,” she says, clearly unconvinced as she fires up the engine. “Don’t come to this bakery again, I mean it.”

“I’m not afraid of your brother,” I tell her.

“Then you’re an idiot.” She flashes me one more smile, then she throws her car in reverse and backs out. I wait for her to hit the brakes, to give up the game and meet me since we both know she wants to.

But she doesn’t. She pulls right out of the parking lot, leaving me there all by my damn self.

Chapter Two

I figure a good night’s sleep might lessen my interest in the damn Morelli girl, but it doesn’t. Especially with her throwing mental images of her pleasuring herself at my damned brain—those sure entertain me while I’m showering and getting ready for the day. I want to know what she looks like under those clothes. I want to see her big brown eyes looking up at me before she takes my cock in her mouth.

Damn, I need to fuck this girl so I can move on with my damn life.

I wait until the bakery’s closing to head over. Hopefully she won’t have to stay so late again.

The door is locked when I try to open it. I don’t even see her standing out front, so I head out back and wait by the door she left through last night.

It takes forever, but eventually she opens it. Her hair is down today, all fluffy and sexy. She’s killin’ me. I want to feel it brushing my chest as she lowers her mouth to kiss me. I want to see her raking her hands through it as she rides me.

Anticipation flows through my veins as she closes the door and gasps.

“Jesus!”

“Just me,” I tell her.

Francesca rolls her eyes. “Just a harmless Mafioso from the rival family—no big deal.”

“Exactly,” I tell her, pushing off the brick wall to follow her to her car. “You still owe me a drink.”

“I’m a nice girl, Salvatore. Nice girls don’t go for drinks with guys like you.”

“Sure they do,” I tell her. “I’ve been out with lots of nice girls. Maybe you’re thinking of good girls. And good girls should definitely go out with guys like me.” I block her door again, flashing her the pearly whites. “Who else is gonna save my tarnished soul?”

“Jesus,” she says solemnly. “You should get in touch.”

“How about this? You go home with me tonight, we’ll go to church together in the morning.”

She laughs, shoving lightly at my arm. “Get out of my way.”

“I’ll keep coming back,” I warn her, catching her wrist. My grip is loose and I let it slide until I’m holding her hand—which is the damndest thing, because I can’t remember the last time I held a woman’s hand. “If I have to clear my schedule for the next month to camp outside this damn bakery, Francesca, I’ll do it.”

This time, she doesn’t laugh.

“Why?” she asks, more seriously this time.

I almost say something generic, something cocky. I almost tell her I’m not a man who’s used to being told no—that’s true. I almost make an innuendo about her cupcakes.

But none of that will work.

I don’t want to be cute; I want to be effective.

“Because I’ve hardly stopped thinking about you since I saw you inside that bakery yesterday,” I tell her. “And I want to know more.”

She holds my gaze, and I can feel this is the closest she’s been to saying yes. My charm isn’t going to work on her; she’s used to charm. I’ve gotta dig out the sincerity for this one.

Which is a little rusty, if I’m being honest.

“I’m not going home with you,” she tells me.

“I can live with that,” I assure her.

“I won’t blow you in the back seat of your car or give you a hand job in a darkened corridor. If we go out for a drink, we talk—that’s it. Platonic, sexless conversation.”

“Still on board,” I tell her.

“And you cannot come back to this bakery.”

“I’ll call you.”

She shakes her head. “You can’t. My brother will find out.”

“I’ll get you another phone,” I tell her. “Just to talk to me.”

Francesca sighs, glancing past me, off in the distance. There’s excitement in her eyes, but nervousness, too. “This is such a terrible idea.”

“Probably the worst I’ve ever had,” I agree, nodding.

That makes her smile. Glancing past me at my car, she sighs.

Then she heads over, opens the passenger side, and drops into the seat.

—

“So, how are we supposed to do this?”