Family Ties (Morelli Family, #4) Read online

  I mean, not twice in the same day. But I’m bored enough to take the risk.

  I could use a little excitement in my life right about now. I could just take her out—if she doesn’t seem down for a hook-up, well, I’ve done worse things with an evening than spend it with an attractive woman I’m not going to fuck.

  In fact, I’ve just spent this night with a beautiful woman I’m not going to fuck, because now Vivian’s hand is on my cock, and my cock has stopped responding.

  Casually brushing her hand away, I hold up my phone with an apologetic shake. “You know what, I apologize, but it turns out I’ve got work to do.”

  “Oh,” she says, watching me, a look of surprise on her lovely features. “Um… do you want me to meet you after?”

  I shake my head, extracting my wallet. They haven’t actually brought the bill yet, but this is the last place in the world I want to be, so I’ll just leave extra and someone’ll get a nice tip out of it.

  The bakery closed two hours ago, so there’s no chance she’s still there, but I’m still gonna drive by on my way home, just in case.

  ---

  I drive by the bakery. It’s closed, like I expected, but there’s still a light on inside. Still a car parked out back.

  I debate parking by her car like a fucking stalker, but then I remember what Adrian said about her calling in suspicious lurkers. Last thing I need is Adrian to show up here now. I could not explain this if I tried.

  So I don’t.

  I just drive my psychotic ass around the surrounding streets until the light flicks off a half hour later. Until I see her walking toward the car behind the bakery.

  Then I pull in.

  Francesca whips around, pulling something out of her purse. Hopefully not a gun, though that would be a funny fucking story. “Oh, yeah, I had a couple drinks at dinner with this chick I didn’t want, thought it’d be a good idea to stalk Morelli’s little sister, and well, she shot me.”

  It’s just a cell phone, though. She doesn’t make a call, but she’s on alert.

  Until she sees me.

  Then the phone lowers to her side. She slips it into her purse, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. While she does look pleased to see me, she also… doesn’t?

  Probably left her a little pissy earlier, toying with her the way I did. Probably wouldn’t have done that if I would’ve realized she’d still be on my mind a few hours later.

  “Bakery’s closed,” she tells me, crossing her arms over her chest a bit defensively.

  “Yeah, I saw that a few minutes ago when I drove by.”

  Her eyebrows rise, like she didn’t expect me to say that. “If you drove by a few minutes ago, what are you doing here now?”

  Offering my most charming grimace, I say, “I thought that might be you inside, so I circled around and came back.”

  Honesty isn’t my first impulse in this situation, but what the hell.

  “Is that right?” she asks, evenly. “Why?”

  Sighing, I walk over to her car and lean against it. “Here’s the thing, Francesca. I think you need to go for a drink with me.”

  This amuses her. “Oh, I need to, do I?”

  I nod confidently. “You do.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because you’re attracted to me, I’m attracted to you, and you already told me you didn’t have plans tonight.”

  Nodding, she taps her chin with her index finger, as if she’s pondering this. “That is true. Of course, you told me your name was Tony… and it turns out that’s not true.”

  The charming smile falls right off my face.

  Her eyebrows rise, unimpressed.

  “Adrian?” I ask.

  Nodding, she verifies, “Adrian.”

  “Goddammit, Adrian,” I mutter, even though it’s not like he can hear me.

  “Yeah, so, that’s awkward,” she says, walking over to stand right next to me, then hip-bumping me out of her way so she can open the door. “Anyway, you probably shouldn’t come buy my cupcakes anymore.”

  “What if I still want your cupcakes?” I ask, even though I know she’s right.

  “Well, Tony, I think you should find a bakery in your own neighborhood to shop at.”

  I catch the door once she has it open, not letting her get in and close it like she seems prone to do. “My name really is Antonio. My first name. I go by Salvatore because it’s my dad’s name, too, but… it wasn’t technically a lie.”

  Putting a hand on her hip, full of attitude, she gives me a look like she can’t believe I’m even trying that. “Oh, come on.”

  “It is.”

  “Well, Antonio in front of it or not, you’re still Salvatore Castellanos, right?”

  “Women don’t usually say that like it’s a bad thing,” I tell her, since she certainly did.

  “Then go out with one of those women,” she advises me, dropping into her seat and tugging the door.

  I keep holding it, not letting her shut it. “I already tried that. I left her and ended up driving by your bakery, so I wouldn’t say it was a successful endeavor. Any better suggestions?”

  Her jaw drops open, those big brown eyes going so wide, I think she might get out and slap the shit out of me. Then she frowns and laughs a little. “Wow. Yeah, actually. Maybe next time you’re trying to convince a girl to grab a drink with you, don’t lead with that.” She pulls the door again.

  I hold it again. “I led with that because it was the truth,” I state. “Your brother’s a liar; I thought you’d probably respect the truth.”

  Smiling again like she can’t believe me, she says, “My brother would also be honest if he thought it would net him the results he wanted—much like you just admitted to doing.”

  Well, shit.

  Honesty is hard.

  “I didn’t go home with her. I didn’t even kiss her. I found myself thinking about you and your… cupcakes,” I say, letting my gaze drift to her lips.

  “My cupcakes are off the menu,” she informs me.

  “You seemed attracted to me earlier.”

  “I was,” she states, not even lying about it. “And then I found out who you were. Men like you do nothing for me. Sorry. Now, kindly let go of my door before I call Adrian and tell him you’re harassing me.”

  “That would be really mean,” I tell her.

  “Morellis have a tendency to be mean,” she informs me.

  “I don’t buy it. You were sweet earlier.”

  “Do I seem sweet now?” she asks, sweetly.

  I can’t help grinning. “Yes.”

  Francesca rolls her eyes at me. “Let go of the door, Castellanos.”

  “Meet me for a drink.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Give me a good reason.”

  That startles a little laugh out of her. “Just one? How could I ever choose from the literally endless list?”

  “Top one,” I say, leaning against the door, turning up the warmth in my smile.

  “Where could this possibly go?” she asks, simply. “What in the world could we possibly have with each other?”

  “Orgasms,” I reply, easily.

  Francesca laughs again, shaking her head. “I can have one of those without the headache you’ll give me.”

  Groaning, I close my eyes and picture it. “I’m very doubtful. I won’t believe you until you show me.”

  She’s grinning, but I haven’t changed her mind. “Goodbye, Tony or Salvatore or whatever your name is.”

  “If you don’t meet me for a drink, I’m coming back tomorrow.”

  I don’t know why. I didn’t even know for sure if I’d fuck her when I pulled in here a couple of minutes ago, but I didn’t expect her to give chase like this.

  I am not bored.

  “You can’t come back,” she tells me. “Mateo wouldn’t take kindly to you hanging around.”

  “Then I guess you should agree to meet me, that way I won’t have to.”

  Francesca tugs
the door again.

  I merely quirk an eyebrow. “Agree to meet me for a drink or call Adrian. Those are the only two options for us ever leaving this parking lot.”

  “You’re relentless,” she states.

  “I’m good at what I do,” I tell her, smirking.

  “Okay, fine. You’ve convinced me.” Francesca nods, pulling the door closed.

  Excitement courses through me, I can’t even explain it. It’s not often I have to chase after what I want, and the victory is sweet. “We could take my car,” I point out.

  “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?”

  We’re seated at the bar and her martini has just arrived. She’s staring at it instead of me.

  “What do you mean?” I ask her.

  “Well, we can’t talk about our lives with each other,” she points out. “I live with Mateo. I can’t talk about my home life without worrying that you’re here to spy.”

  “If I’m here to spy, I’m the worst spy there is,” I tell her. “You already know who I am.”

  “Or maybe you just think I’m an easy mark,” she returns, raising a dark eyebrow.

  “So far, nothing about you has been easy,” I inform her.

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “I’ve known you for one whole day and I’m here getting a drink with you. You think that’s a girl being difficult?”

  I can’t help smiling. “In my experience, yes.”

  “Ugh,” she says, rolling her eyes again. “You’re going to make me injure an optic nerve.”

  “Well, it’s the truth,” I defend.

  “It’s an arrogant truth.”

  “Want me to take my shirt off? It might help you understand.”

  She groans, dramatically dropping her head against the counter. “You’re the worst.”

  “I’m not the worst.”

  Lifting her head, she shakes it at me, testing those optic nerves by rolling her eyes at me again. “Yes, you are. I hate arrogant men.”

  I take a sip of my beer. “All right, then what do you like in a man?”

  “Why?” she asks, amused. “So you can pretend to be that until you fuck me? Do you even want to fuck me, or is this some game you’re playing with my brother? I had half a mind to ask him at dinner last night if he was having issues with you, you know.”

  “Don’t do that,” I say, mildly alarmed. “Trust me; I’m following my cock, not some diabolical plan.”

  “The. Worst,” she says accusingly, pointing her index finger at me.

  I catch that finger, bringing it to my mouth and running it over my lips. I want to kiss her so fucking bad. I mean, I want to do more than kiss her, but she already told me that was a no-go tonight and I won’t try to change her mind. I’m gonna try the respectful route.

  Her gorgeous brown eyes get a little hooded as I do. Her delicate hand goes limp in mine. I know she feels the same attraction I feel. I mean, we’re both sexy people, so why shouldn’t she?

  We also can’t be together, not in a million years.

  Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

  And boy, do
I want to taste her forbidden fruit.

  “You said sex was off the table, but what if we just touch?”

  Francesca shakes her head no. She holds my gaze, though.

  “How are you single?” I ask her.

  “My brother’s Mateo Morelli,” she says, lightly amused.

  “He’s protective?”

  “Not of me,” she says, mildly. “But he’s scary.”

  “Do I look scared?”

  A helpless smile tugs at her mouth and she pulls her hand away from me, turning her attention to her drink. “So, next time I’m sitting here on this bar stool across from a guy who wants to fuck me, you want me to tell him, ‘my brother’s Mateo Morelli, and my ex is Salvatore Castellanos—wait, come back!’?” Smirking, she says, “Is that right?”

  I have to laugh at that. I don’t pay much thought to what it’s like for the women in our families, to be honest, but I guess she has a point. We’re two of the more dangerous men in this city, and I’m not an easy act to follow to begin with.

  I shouldn’t, I normally wouldn’t, but I catch myself saying, “What makes you think there’d be a next guy?”

  Francesca sighs, but she can handle me, I can tell. She’s not getting swept up in my bullshit, and damn, if I don’t respect that. “I’m no fool, Salvatore.”

  “Neither am I, Francesca.”

  Tipping back her martini, she takes a long drink. “I need to go home,” she tells me.

  “Why’s that?” I ask, mildly.

  “Because you are gonna get me in trouble, and I don’t like trouble.”

  “What do you like?” I ask again, since she never answered me last time.

  “Stability. The bakery. Hydrangeas. Guys who don’t lie to me and approach me with ulterior motives. Guys who have no association whatsoever with my brother. Guys who have no similarities to my brother. Nice guys. Good guys. Those mythical, unicorn-like creatures.”

  “What if I’m a good guy?” I ask her.

  “You’re not,” she says, completely sure of herself.

  “What if I wanna be?”

  “Then try volunteering at a soup kitchen,” she shoots back. “I’m not here to fix you. I’m not here to entertain you. I’m not charmed by anything I know about you. If anything, you’re at a clear disadvantage, and I don’t know why you’re wasting your time and energy, to be honest.”