Chapter 4

The black truck pulls over at the curb outside of my favorite coffee shop, and Matty moves to get out with me. “Don’t you dare,” I tell him as I go to slam the door.

“Elena,” he says, exasperated, and holds out a hand to stop me from shutting it on his legs. “You know I can’t let you go in alone.”

“You’re twenty feet away. There’s an enormous window. If something happens, you can come running in. I’m fine, Matty, it’s just La Colombe.”

He groans and stares up at the sky. “Can you please be reasonable? If Simon knew I let you go⁠—”

“Then he won’t ever find out. I’ll be back in five minutes, tops!” I hurry away before my guard changes his mind. Fortunately, Matty decides to listen for once and remains in the truck with the driver, while I step into a trendy coffee shop that smells like absolute heaven.

Ever since the war started, I can’t go anywhere alone. Even during my daily coffee run, which happens at eight in the morning sharp, mostly to give me an excuse to get out of the house. I always have at least one or two guys watching over me, and I understand why. Santoro’s been dangerous lately. I remember when he was like a member of our extended family, back when Dad used to spend hours with the man. They were practically inseparable.

Which made it that much harder when Luciano Santoro betrayed our Famiglia, nearly killed Davide, and has been a nightmare ever since.

But that’s history and all I really want is coffee.

“What are you doing here?” The voice makes me go all stiff. I was too busy thinking about my family’s mortal enemy and I wasn’t paying enough attention to my surroundings. I turn to my left, and there he is, staring at me with a playful little smirk.

Brody looks good in a tailored suit. Based on my very practiced eye, it’s probably custom made and obscenely expensive, and I’m definitely not complaining, because it clings to his arms and his chest like it’s fighting for life and makes him look totally stunning. His hair’s pushed back in a messy, wavy flow, and his sparkling green eyes look stunning in the dim coffee shop light.

“Brody Quinn, are you stalking me?” I ask, clapping my hands together with delight.

His smile falters. “What? No, I’m not⁠—”

“Oh my god, you are.” I move closer to him, beaming. “I kind of like it, honestly.” My stomach’s doing little cartwheels again and I like this feeling. Even though he’s a big prick, he’s a big, handsome prick, and he went out of his way to hunt me down. I’m actually kind of flattered.

“I asked your brother where I could find you so we might talk.” He glares at me as we’re forced to stand close together. La Colombe is always crowded and it’s not exactly a big space. The line moves and his hand bumps against mine, and I suck in a sharp breath, surprised at the way my body reacts to the sudden slight touch. My heart rate doubles and beads of sweat break out along my spine. I’m actually kind of nervous, which has to be a first.

“And what do you want to talk about, hubby?”

His mouth twitches. “Hubby? God, please don’t.”

“Since you’re calling me wifey, I thought you should get a nickname too. Don’t you love it?”

“I’m really regretting this right now.”

“We could go with love nugget, or snuggle bunny, or sugar lips, or⁠—”

“If you stop, I’ll buy your coffee.”

I grin and jab a finger into his chest. “And a pastry.”

He sighs and nods. “Whatever you want.”

“Wonderful.” I leave my finger where it is because I like the feeling of his firm, muscular pecs, and he doesn’t seem to mind. “Now, what can I do for you, cuddle monster?”

He looks like he wishes he could float up through the ceiling and I find his exasperation shockingly attractive.

“I need a favor,” he says through his teeth.

“A favor?” I loop my hand through his arm and let him escort me toward the barista. “I love doing favors. You’ve come to the right person.”

“Somehow, I think you’re just going to torture me instead.”

I swat at him playfully and I realize I’m actually having fun with this big, grumpy man. I order a flat white and a blueberry muffin, and he just asks for a black coffee to go, which I guess means this is going to be a quick conversation. We grab a small table in the back corner, and he practically has to jam himself into the tiny chair. He’s much too large for a small place like this, and he practically swallows the room with his presence.

“There’s a charity golf tournament this weekend,” he says as I break my muffin into little pieces and start eating. “It’s put on by a member of the committee on zoning, a guy that hates my fucking guts.”

“Someone hates you? Big shock there. What’s his name?”

He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Omar Ali.”

I sit back and cross my legs, trying not to show him how delighted I am right now. “God, you’re such a lucky bastard.”

“I’m pretty sure I just said Omar hates me. That’s not lucky.”

“No, but I’m friendly with his wife, Layla.” I look at my nails, trying not to play this up too much, but god, the look on his face is hilarious. Both hopeful and supremely pissed off, as if this isn’t exactly what he hoped for, but now he’s annoyed that I’m being so smug. “We play tennis in the same league.”

He lets out a long breath as if he’s suffering from some hidden pain. “I need you to come and help Omar realize that I’m charming and friendly.”

“I can’t work miracles, hubs. But Layla does like me so that will probably help.”

“Can you come then?” He pushes his chair back as if he’s about to leave. “It starts at eight on Saturday morning. I’ll send my driver.”

I hold up a hand, halting him. “If I do a favor for you, then you have to do a favor for me.” I look up along his muscular thighs and my gaze lingers on the tight crotch of his pants before quickly meeting his eyes. “I’m not sure what yet though, but you’ll owe me.”

“I could pay you back right now,” he says, leaning closer, pitching his voice low. “My office is nearby if you’d like a private tour.”

My eyebrows shoot up and my heart skips a beat. “Is that an innuendo, Mr. Quinn?”

“It could be.”

I bark a laugh right in his face. “I mean, you’re hot and all, but my favor is definitely not going to be of the sexual variety.”

He smirks and shrugs as if that’s not a big deal. “Another time then.”

I open my mouth to tell him absolutely not, no way that’ll ever happen, but if I’m honest with myself, I’m pretty sure we’re going to fuck until one of us dies at some point in the future. I mean, we’re getting married, and it’s not like I plan on being celibate until the day I die, and since I find him attractive⁠—

And suddenly my cheeks are flushed, and I feel another bead of sweat roll down between my shoulder blades. But this time he notices, and his smirk gets bigger, because the bastard knows what just went through my mind.

“Just to warn you, I’m good at golf,” I say, banging my knee as I get to my feet too quickly. I curse and rub it, and I shake him away when he tries to help me. “I’m going to kick your ass on the links, hubster, mark my words. You’re going to regret bringing me.”

“Maybe I will,” he says, one hand on my elbow as he guides me to the door. I’m limping and feeling mortified, but I like the way he’s touching me and the protective slant of his body. “But maybe I won’t if you wear one of those cute white dresses with the short skirts.”

I blink at him as we step out onto the sidewalk together. His hand’s still on my arm, and we’re standing very close together, and I’m pretty sure he was flirting with me in there. No, not pretty sure, I’m absolutely sure, and I actually liked it. His lips are spread and I can imagine them on mine, the taste of his tongue in my mouth, the silky softness of him driving me wild as his rough heat presses me up against a wall⁠—

“Elena? Are you okay?”

I wince and look over. Matty’s standing next to the truck eyeing Brody like he’s about to pull a gun.

“We’re all good,” I say and pull away from my fiancé. “Just having a conversation is all. Mr. Quinn, I’ll see you this weekend.”

Brody’s grin drives me absolutely freaking crazy. “I’m looking forward to it.” He nods at Matty and walks off; his long legs eating up the sidewalk, and I take a moment to admire his muscular ass.

Damn, that’s one good-looking man.

He pisses me off and he’s a grumpy little bastard, and he’s only nice when he wants something⁠—

But damn, is he good looking.

“You’re blushing,” Matty says when I climb into the truck. “I guess that’s the guy you’re going to marry?”

“Sometimes I wish you were afraid of me,” I grumble at him.

“Nah, you don’t. I’m charming.” But he drops it and I’m left alone for the short drive back to the oasis, wondering if maybe I’m pushing myself a little too hard.