Page 1 of This Thing of Ours

Chapter One

“I didn’t comehere to get a lecture, I came to visit my niece.” Gabby peered across the expanse of her brother’s desk, eyeballing Nico. She even pursed her lips for good measure.

Neither seemed to influence Nico, as he continued, “You also came alone. No driver. No bodyguard. Do you know how dangerous that is?” He sat back in his chair, looking cool as a cucumber, but Gabby knew it was a façade. His eyes told the real story. Her brother was pissed.

But could a girl really be blamed when her detail was so easily evaded? Okay, to be fair, she’d had years of practice ditching her bodyguards but, come on, it was like they weren’t even trying. Definitely not her fault.

Throwing him a placating expression, she soothed, “I came straight from my house to yours. Really, you and Dad make way too much of it.”

Nico sat up in his chair. Leaning slightly forward, he placed his forearms on his desk, clasping his hands. She watched him entwine his fingers before her eyes turned to Marco, standing to the left of Nico’s chair, expressionless, as usual. His eyes were focused on her—hard chunks of black onyx, probing her and missing nothing.

She looked away but still felt his scrutiny and fidgeted in her seat as the air suddenly became thinner. As if his look alone were sucking all the oxygen from the room.

Did she mention she had a crush on Marco? Maybe crush was too juvenile a term, since she’d hit her twenties two years ago. Should she say lusted after, instead? Whatever she should call it, it made her feel very womanly. In fact, all her woman bits took notice whenever Marco shared space with her. For ten long years, she’d had to endure her puppy-love, turned crush, turned lust. Not that he’d ever noticed—and thank God for that. How embarrassing would that have been.

She squirmed again, still sensing his stare, but she didn’t dare take a second peek. Not that she needed to. She knew when she had his attention. Call it a sixth sense—a Marco sense—but after so many years, she was that attuned. And for a man who showed not a single emotion, that was saying something.

She also didn’t need a second glance to know he stood rigidly, with his hands clasped behind his back, the cotton of his white dress shirt pulled taut across his chest. He was a big guy, evidenced by the bulging muscles that could be seen through the fabric. Black slacks encased powerful legs she’d had the good fortune to witness on two separate occasions.

Once, when she’d been sixteen, and her Aunt Teresa had drunkenly tripped against the buffet table at her parents’ annual Christmas party. She’d knocked over the punch bowl, and Marco had been the unlucky recipient of its spilled contents. Gabby had rushed from the room to get some towels, and as she’d walked back down the hall, she’d seen him in a spare bedroom.

The door had been left ajar, and with his back to the opening, he hadn’t known she’d watched, transfixed, as he’d stepped from his pants. She’d never seen his bare legs before—had never seen him out of a suit even in the summer heat. His powerful muscles had bunched and flexed under olive skin coated with dark, thick hairs.

He’d bent at the waist to slip on clean slacks, thrusting out his perfectly rounded backside, pulling taut the thin, white cotton that covered it. Cotton so thin, she’d been able to make out the dark shadow of his crack.

As if sensing her, he’d stood upright and turned, locking eyes with her. Hers had gone wide, and she’d found it difficult to swallow. As he’d stalked toward her, she stood her ground, not out of bravery but from a complete loss of brain function, hindering her ability to move her feet.

He’d drawn close, and she’d watched—heart pounding in her chest—as his arm had raised. His hand had reached up and out, and in that split second in time, her brain had worked overtime. She’d been convinced he’d been reaching out to touch her. But his hand hadn’t come to rest on her cheek for a soft caress as she’d envisioned. No, it had landed with a slap on the hard wood, slamming the door in her face with a loud thunk.

Mortified, she’d dropped the towels on the floor and had scurried to her room, refusing to come out until she’d been sure he was gone from the house.

And the second time? On her eighteenth birthday. That time had been so mortifying, she refused to think about it.

She was pulled back to the conversation by Nico’s firm tone. “I know you’re not stupid, Gabriella, so you can’t possibly believe that.”

What had they been talking about? Oh, yeah, Nico wanting to curb her freedom.

“You know of the dangers that lurk around every corner. We haven’t shielded you from them.”

He was so damn calm, it was easy for her to forget he was one of those dangers. Well, men like him. Men like her father. And even Marco. She blew out a heavy sigh, ruffling the straight line of wispy bangs that fell across her forehead.

Nico continued. “Things are happening—”

“What things?” she interrupted.

Nico held her gaze. “Bad things. It’s not safe for you to go out alone. Promise me you won’t.”

Gabby swallowed and, for a brief moment, wondered if it were a ploy. Nico’s way of scaring her into complying with his wishes. From the corner of her eye, she saw Marco move. His hand came into her field of vision as it landed on the top of Nico’s chair, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the soft leather. Nico’s face was as serious as she’d ever seen it. His features were tense, and little lines had formed at the corners of his eyes.

Not a ploy, then.

She nodded. “I promise.”

He nodded curtly in return. “Good. Now go. Visit with Olivia and Angelica. When you’re done, Marco will take you home.”

Knowing she’d been dismissed, Gabby stood from her seat. Her eyes flicked once more over Nico’s shoulder to Marco. His eyes were still on her. She stared for maybe a few seconds longer than she should then turned her back to the room and headed out the door.

“Gabby! I wasn’texpecting you.”

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