Page 8 of Captive Mafia Wife

“Hey, yourself. So glad you came! I know last time we spoke, you weren’t sure about your work schedule.”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it. I hired a couple of extra hands for the week, though I’ve been driving them crazy with texts, checking on the cattle.”

“Of course you are.” Arran always was a caretaker. It’s part of his personality. I remember many a night he got me home, helping my drunk ass sneak back in through a bedroom window. “I’d forgotten you’d taken over the Bayne ranch.”

I go around the bar to hug him but trip over my feet—whoops—and he catches me in his arms. Righting myself, I peck his cheek and throw an arm casually over his shoulders. He smells like fresh hay, mint, and home.

I eye his whisky. “You got some of that for me?”

He eyes me back, brow furrowing. “You sure, love? You look a wee bit...”

“Blootered, steamin', wrecked?” I slap my palms onto the boat's bottom, making a hollow, echoing sound as I blurt out more Scottish slang words for my inebriated state. “Bladdered? Hammered?”

He gives his big, easy laugh. His good nature is what kept us friends long after we stopped kissing. “Aye. Something like that.”

“Or am I sloshed and smashed, ooot yer tree, steamboated?” A fresh song with a great beat comes on over the speaker, and I shake my hips.

“I’d say all of the above. Yer mad wae it!” Grabbing a red plastic party cup—Fiona’s rule is no glass in the garden—he pours me a splash of liquor, handing me the drink.

I take the cheap cup and throw him a look. “Can I not be trusted with more?”

Folding his arms over the bottom of the boat, he leans in closer. “Nope! You certainly cannae.”

“At least put more than a drop in the cup.” I try to seduce him to my will with a dance. Red cup aloft, my hands sway to the beat, opposite my rolling hips.

“I don’t know?—”

“Seriously? I grew up drinking with your rugby team. You know I can hold my own,” I say. “Fill ‘er up, lad. Fill ‘er up!”

“Aye.” His pretty eyes sparkle at me. “I never could say no to ye, could I?”

“Not many people dare to try,” I tease.

He takes the cup back, pouring in a bit more. “Here ye go, ye wee hellion.” He hands it over. “That’ll do ya.”

“Thanks.” I’d forgotten how blue his eyes are. “So, how have you been?” I put my drink on the bar, giving him my full attention. I catch up on his farming adventures, laughing at his stories. We reminisce about old times. We laugh some more.

Ready to return to bro time, Fiona’s brothers begin to closein. I give Arran a quick farewell hug and kiss and grab my cup, making my way to the dance floor.

The first few notes of a goddess’s melodic voice—the gorgeous, ginger-haired singer for Florence and the Machine—resound through the night air, and I’m instantly elated.

Swaying in the center of the dance floor, lights shining down on me, Florence’s voice serenading me, I take in this perfect moment. Licking my lips in anticipation, I finally bring the cup to my mouth, forgiving the cheap plastic vessel that holds the liquid gold. The moment the white rim touches my bottom lip, it’s taken away.

“Hey!” I snap my head over my shoulder to see who’s stolen my drink. I stare into Fredrick's determined brown eyes once more. “Are you joking? I’d like that back.”

He moves in close. Cedarwood and heat. That deep, resonating voice returns, hovering just over my right ear. “You’ve had enough.”

Anger flashes over me. “I’ll say when I’ve had enough.”

He captures my chin between his finger and thumb. So not cool. But…I can’t deny the dominance of the power move. My knees feel a little weak.

“Party’s over, princess,” he says. I shrug out of his grasp as he follows up with, “I’ll be taking you to bed now.”

“Taking me to bed?” An involuntary wave of heat presses between my thighs at the very idea. I let my eyes drag over his broad chest, wide shoulders, Cartier watch, and cuff links. I reach up to bop him on the nose like Fiona, but his stern vibe makes me think better of it; my hand shrinks back. “Hell shall freeze over before that happens, but I will say Kitt was right; you are HAWT.”

Hiccup.

Did I say that out loud?

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