Page 15 of Mob Knight

“Cormac.” I put my hand on my chest. “You scared the bejesus out of me. What are you doing here?”

He glances around, far less imposing than yesterday. He’s not any smaller than he was when we met, but the air of controlled anger is gone. He appears reluctant to speak now that he’s in front of me.

“I was worried about—about what happened yesterday.”

Was he going to say he was worried about me? Is he blushing? Oh my God. I think he is.

“How’d you find me?” It’s not an accusation so much as shock.

“I figured you’d be at the Port Richmond CPS office or here. I thought you might not be rushing to head back into the areawhere we met, so I tried here first. If I was wrong, I would have gone there next.”

Bashful. Like one of the Seven Dwarfs. That’s how I’d describe the Cormac in front of me right now. That makes my lips want to twitch. That might be stretching it a bit far. He doesn’t come across as anything but a ruggedly handsome man. Except I think he’s shy now that we’re not in a situation he feels he must control.

Control.

That’s what radiated from him yesterday. He might have been the target, but even with me butting in, he came across as very much in control. It certainly appeared that way when Pablo showed up. But now that his life isn’t in danger, his presence isn’t as—as—it doesn’t—I don’t know how to articulate it. It’s everything he was yesterday, just less, I suppose. Like a tamer version. Like the difference between a lion in the wild and one at a safari park. Don’t underestimate him in either place, but at least now he’s approachable.

“Do you need something?”

He’s just staring at me, as though the ball’s in my court, but he came to me.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I know how sore I am. It must be ten times worse for you. And I want to say thank you. I don’t believe I did yesterday, and I should have.”

I can’t remember if he did. Maybe. I really don’t know since a lot happened, and I vacillated between trying not to wince in pain and trying not to drool.

“It’s all right.”

“All the same, thank you for pushing me out of the way and for calming those boys down.”

Now my lips twitch, and I don’t hide it.

“I heard calling them boys set everything in motion. You hurt their pride.”

“Pride goeth before a fall.”

I’m pretty sure that’s scripture, and that’s the last thing I expected a mobster to quote.

“True.”

I wait for him to say something—anything—else, but he remains quiet. The silence draws out and threatens to get awkward. Um…

“You said you were sore today. Did you get hurt?”

“Just my ribs.”

My fingertips itch to feather them over his abs and pecs, which are hidden by his button down and his suit coat. But I felt them yesterday when they pressed against my tits and belly.

Washboard.

Eight pack.

I bet he has that sexy as all get out V over his hip bones, and I bet his chiseled ass has those grooves on his hips meant for someone to slip their hands over and hold on. I bet he has those dimples at the base of his spine. I’ve practically stripped him buck naked in my mind, ready to fuck him right here, right now in the parking lot outside my office.

“I think that was probably my elbow that did that as much as the steps. Sorry about that.”

“I can hardly complain, considering you saved my life and got hurt in the process. How is your elbow?”

Does he genuinely want to know? Or is he fishing for whether I called Meredith?

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