Page 33 of The Lieutenant

I closed my eyes, forced to try to regroup. How was that possible around the man? He was completely disarming. I glanced over my shoulder, watching as he picked through men’s swim trunks. For some crazy, treasonous reason, I couldn’t wait to see what he picked out. Did swim trunks suddenly say a lot about the man wearing them?

“Okay,” I whispered to myself. Snorkeling I could do. The surface was right there. No worry about getting the bends or deep-sea monsters feasting on my flesh. I only had to worryabout surface monsters. Thankfully, my intimate and very personal quips allowed me a smile.

Evidently my stereotype of mafia leaders, which up until this point I’d thought was based in fact, was completely wrong. He was sexy and exciting, giving and enticing, dangerously alluring, and could cook one mean marinara sauce. Let alone just how adorable he’d looked in an apron.

What other crime syndicate leader of the pack, huge he-man alpha wolf wore an apron? Damn it. If only I’d gotten a picture. No, he would have pooh-poohed that right away. Not good for his barbarian image.

But good for the ladies. He could become the world’s hottest bachelor.

A strange pang swept through me. Jealousy? Not a chance. I wasn’t that into him.

Then why are you sneaking another look in his direction?

I concentrated on selecting a swimsuit that wouldn’t make me look frumpy instead of chasing my tail trying to see through his clothes. I found one that might work, holding it up in the better light yet groaning inwardly. It was bright pink. Not my color. But the style was lovely. Maybe I could pull it off.

“Teleiótita se roz.”

How did he manage to end up directly behind me? Electrodes exploded in my body and my brain. “What did you say?

“I said perfection in pink. You’re the kind of woman who could wear anything or nothing and still remain absolutely perfect in my eyes. But the color will bring out the stunning blush on your cheeks, the vivid color in your eyes.”

I couldn’t remember the last time a man had complimented me, let alone sounded as I he’d pulled the words straight from a sonnet. “And what did you select? Bully black?”

When I swung around as if with purpose in mind, he was not only grinning, his eyes flashing, but he was holding up the most incredible emerald green pair of swim trunks I’d ever seen in my life. They highlighted his eyes like nobody’s business. They also were sensual instead of being either gawdy or repulsive.

There was nothing worse in my eyes than any man, even well-toned, who wore little more than butt floss on the beach. The same held for women, which is why the suit I’d chosen had a full bottom.

Hell, just like me.

I sucked in my breath and nodded as if some stupid little doll in a window. Why did this man have such a powerful effect on me? “Did you try it on?” And my voice was squeaking.

“No need. I know exactly what suits me best.” His voice held the same dark and dangerous tone as the night before and during the morning meeting, but there was more depth to it. More need.

I was reading way too much into this. “I, um…”

“That will fit exquisitely. Let’s select snorkels and masks. Pink to match?”

“Over my dead body.”

He laughed and we headed toward the wall, the man forcing me to try on mask after mask until he determined one fit snugly enough.

“These are perfect. I’ll go pay for them while you change.”

“Shit. I left my purse in the car.”

“My treat,” he insisted.

“Oh, no. I pay my way. I make sure I’m not beholden to anyone.”

When he’d brushed hair from my eyes before, I’d been stunned at the tenderness he used. This time, the same action indicated possession. “You will never be beholden to anyone, especially me. However, you can make it up to me at some point.” I must have opened my mouth to object because he planted his index finger over my lips. “Tsk. Tsk. Be a good girl and don’t object.”

A good girl. The little words make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. This was getting out of hand. He was a client, a man I should keep my distance from and I was acting like some lap dog. When had my personality changed so much from being ballsy to melting to his touch?

Frustrated, I backed away, asking the woman behind the counter where I could change. When I walked inside the tiny space, the size no larger than an airplane lavatory, I rolled my eyes. But I admitted something else to myself.

This was kind of fun, more spontaneous than I’d been in a very long time. I don’t know when the idea of picking up and going to a club or to see a movie, or perhaps meeting friends for brunch on a whim had changed. But I’d been nothing but a homebody. Well, when I wasn’t traveling the world. I wanted this life. I’d worked my butt off to get to where I was.

Why did it feel like I was homesick?

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