Page 96 of The Woman in the Warehouse

“She already has a dog,” Anthony said.

“Don’t see it.”

“She’s staying with a friend until I feel comfortable leaving Anthony alone to walk her,” I told Brio.

“She stole her from drug dealers who kept her outside her whole life,” Anthony said.

“Yeah?” Brio asked, something dark crossing his face. “What’s their address? Wanna have a little talk with ‘em.”

“Okay then,” Ezmeray said, walking up behind her husband, wrapping her arm around his waist. “I’m gonna get you out of here before you make more work for poor Silvano,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I can clean up my own messes,” Brio said, but he was being pulled away before he could get the address for the drug dealers.

“We have to get going too,” Giana said, moving toward us with Lorenzo. “I’m sure the kids have driven Lore up the wall already,” she said, both of them saying goodbye to Anthony and me and my mom before heading out.

One by one, the rest of the couples followed.

Then, finally, the aunts and cousins.

And last but not least, Ant’s mom, who promised to be by to check on him again tomorrow.

With more food.

“You two look dead on your feet,” my mom said when she was the only one left. “Try to get some sleep, okay? I have a feeling you’re going to be doing a lot of hosting for the foreseeable future. And your social battery already looks drained. Ant, please rest,” she said, walking up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Do you want anything to eat?” I asked, waving at what was left of the appetizer platter someone had brought.

“God no. I’m so fucking full,” he said.

I grabbed the last three mozzarella sticks, then moved toward him. “How about we try to rest in bed?” I suggested. “At least then you have something to lean your head back against.”

He had no objections to that as we moved through my mess of a living room, full of cards, flowers, and get-well packages, and made it to the bedroom.

By the time I kicked out of my pants and yanked off my hoodie, Ant was cussing and swearing at his own button and fly.

“Stuck?” I asked, moving toward him to brush his hands away.

“Babe, really don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said.

“Why?” I asked, pulling the zipper down, so I could try to pull the caught material free.

“Because you need to turn the heat up.”

“What?” I asked, yanking harder, and feeling the material finally give. “Is this an insecure shrinkage thing?” I asked, glancing up at him. “Because I’ve seen your cock, Anthony,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, shrinking is not the problem,” he said, voice going thick. His hand raised, brushing across the tank top I had on. With no bra.

And he was right; it was a little cold in the condo.

So my nipples were pebbled up against the light gray material.

“Dude, you were shot last night,” I reminded him even as desire coiled in my core as his fingers teased across my nipple.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his hooded gaze holding mine. “You could make me feel a lot better,” he said.

I would have laughed if I wasn’t so distracted by how his hand moved up to yank the top of my tank top down, exposing my entire breast, his fingers touching me again without the barrier.

“These are fucking amazing,” he told me, his hand sliding under the swell, lifting, squeezing.

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