Page 4 of Stranded with My Mafia Boss

The cold wind bit at the exposed skin of my face and slithered through my coat. What choice did I have? At least I’d get to see the inside of the cabin. If it matched the outside, it must be gorgeous. "Thank you, Mr. Santini. I appreciate the offer. I need some downtime. I haven’t slept in over a day. My flight is tomorrow, and I am now technically on vacation, remember?"

Sometimes it was hard to keep the irony out of my tone.

"Come in." He opened the door and gestured for me to enter. "Please, call me Damien. Do you prefer Katherine or Katie?"

His voice was different, almost inviting. It gave me goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Katie, uh,Damien," I said, still trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. My heart thumped. A part of me was intrigued by this sudden welcome, a side of him I'd never seen before.

A very silly part of me.

When I stepped into the cabin, warm air surrounded me like a hug. Oh, yes.

"Make yourself at home," Damien said, his gaze never leaving mine. "There’s a ready guest room at the top of the stairs on the right. If you need anything, text me. Alex and Rico are away, so we’re alone right now."

Alone? He wasneveralone. Not that I’d ever seen.

"Erm, thank you," I said, acutely aware of his closeness. Then I headed for the stairs as fast as my tired feet would take me. They gleamed with polish, a rich dark brown.

When I opened the door to the guest room the light came on automatically. I sucked in an appreciative breath. The king-sized bed with plush pillows and a velvet duvet beckoned my tired achy self. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a breathtaking view of a snow-covered landscape. The amber gleam of polished wood floors in the warm light cast by a crystal chandelier was a balm on my tired eyes.

"Wow," I muttered under my breath, setting down my old off-brand carry-on on the bed. The duvet didn’t spontaneously throw it across the room, which was good.

The siren song of the shower pulled me in first. Once the warm jets of water and scented creamy soaps were done having their way with me, my stomach growled hard.

Wrapped in the world’s plushest towel, I checked the closet. There was a variety of clothes in it, and after a quick search, I found an ugly Christmas sweater and a set of leggings that fit.

This place wasn’t decorated for Christmas at all. How odd.

My stomach snarled at me again, so I went exploring. Once I found the fridge, there'd be something to eat. At this point, just about anything would taste good.

From the top of the stairs, I sniffed appreciatively and then followed the aroma of garlic. The kitchen wasn’t far from the entry area, and I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at Damien as he stood over the stove, expertly flipping a pan full of what appeared to be shrimp scampi.

"Damien?" I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "You cook?"

He looked over, face as grim as usual. There was a gleam in his eyes, though… "Surprised?"

"A bit." This was a side of him I'd never seen before. Also, the smell was making me want to drool.

He tapped his phone and music started to play. A lovely piano piece, I recognized the music. "You like Andrea Stewart too?"

I had all her music on my lists at home. She played with a passion I loved.

"Yes, I enjoy her music. Go ahead, have a seat." He gestured toward the kitchen table, the pale wood already set with gleaming silverware and creamy glazed stoneware. Hesitantly, I pulled out a chair and sat down, watching him as he moved with brisk ease around the kitchen.

The music glided into a slower pace, and I relaxed listening to it, tension seeping out of my tired muscles. The woman had a real artistic gift.

Speaking of which, the question popped out of my mouth. "Why do you know how to cook?"

"Hard to be poisoned if you cook your own food," he said offhandedly. "You know, things in my world can get tense."

Completely inappropriately, my stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard across the kitchen.

"Eat," Damien said, placing a plate piled high with shrimp scampi in front of me. The aroma was mouth-watering, and my stomach growled again in anticipation.

I took a bite and then stuffed another in my mouth. It was delicious.

Damien poured Pinot Grigio and set a glass next to me, setting his plate and glass next to mine rather than across the table. Busy inhaling the food, I didn’t comment. I didn’t care. At that second, he could’ve murdered someone in front of me, as long as I kept my plate.

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