Page 12 of Little Dove

I turn away, but his hand wraps around my forearm, spinning me back to him. He easily blocks the punch I aim for his gut, and then, the next thing I know, I’m airborne until he’s holding me up at his eye level. I let out a cry of alarm, my hands flying out to grip his shoulders tightly, as if that’s somehow going to keep me from falling. My eyes dart to the floor, which seems an awful long way down. Hell, if he drops me, I’ll probably break some bones.

His thumb and forefinger grip my chin, returning my gaze to his. “We’re not done talking, Amara,” he tells me in a low voice.

“So you put me in air jail?” I breathe, trying to calm myself. I don’t mind heights, but this feels different. The only reason I’m not freaking the fuck out is because of the tight grip he has on me, and that I have on his shoulders. I might even be leaving marks with how deep my fingers are digging in.

“Air jail?” he repeats, blinking at me, confused.

“You know those dog and cat videos where they misbehave on their walks or attack their owners, so they just pick them up and carry them to make them stop? Air jail.”

He stares at me, then blows out an irritated breath. “You Americans and your weird fucking expressions.”

“It makes us unique. Look, I’m sure you yanked me up here for a reason, so how about you get to it so that you can put me back down? By the way, if you drop me, I’m going to be seriously pissed.”

“Why the fuck would I drop you?” he demands. “This is what I get for trying to understand the female mind. As for why you’re up here, I’m not done arguing with you.”

“Nah, the moment’s gone now,” I point out. “If you had let me storm off in a huff, maybe we could continue, but not after this. Unless your goal was to prove how big and strong you are. If it was, well done.”

I’ve effectively befuddled him. Not exactly my intention, but I’ll take it. If it means an end to this discussion, all the better. Being this close to him puts me at a huge disadvantage. Unfortunately, the man isn’t easily dissuaded.

“Then you can just listen,” he tells me after a moment. “You and me, we can figure that shit out once we get out of here, but you are coming with me to New York. You want to fight and scream the entire way, fine, but I won’t be leaving you in danger on your own. Is that clear?”

I scowl at him. “You need to understand that I’m tired of being told what I will and won’t do, and that isn’t going to change just because you order it. So I hope you’re prepared for some sore balls, because that bullshit makes me feel extra punchy.”

His lips pull back into a salacious smile. “You’ll just have to kiss them better, won’t you,dolcezza? If you’re really repentant, you might find you come to crave the taste.”

I want to fight him and tell him how wrong he is, act all disgusted that he even dared suggest it, but I swear my brain short-circuits. Damn this man and his ability to render me mute at the worst times. Desire simmers in my blood, and from the heated look in his eyes, he knows it.

Then, before I can get my brain back online, his grip on my chin tightens. He tilts my head back and presses his mouth to mine, and what was a short circuit is absolutely fried.

The kiss isn’t long or overly passionate, but there is no mistaking it for the claiming that it is. His lips are firm, but the grip on my chin softens, and when he finally pulls away, I can only stare back at him in shock. Then he smirks at me and murmurs, “Oh yeah, you and I are going to be a thing. Good luck trying to deny it now.” Then he releases my chin, sets me back on my feet, and pulls away like he hasn’t just set my brain on fire.

“I need to call my boss to send us some backup and get us out of here,” he announces, pulling out his phone. “Why don’t you see if you can find us something to eat? If you’re thirsty, that sink works; the water seems fine, but to be safe, we should boil it first. There are meds on the plane, but we should try not to poison ourselves before we get there.”

My brain is finally starting to come back online, but not enough to do more than nod. I turn to watch him as he walks out the bunker door.

I am in so much trouble, and I’m stuck down here for who knows how much longer. I need to get myself under control, because that can’t happen again. Ever.

Lazaro Cattaneo has the ability to overwhelm me, and if I have to go to New York and face all that shit, I need my wits about me. Especially if, when this is all done and over with, I want to leave the whole fucking thing behind.

I managed to stay off their radar for twenty-six and a half years. I can do it again, and not even Lazaro will be able to find me.

6

LAZARO

Thank fuckthere seems to be reception down here. The call to Alessio connects after only a couple of rings, his voice quiet. “Lazaro. What’s the status?” I give him a rundown of everything that happened. When I finish, he promises, “We’ll have someone there as fast as we can. How’s Amara?”

The instant jealousy of hearing him say her name has me on edge. While the rational part of me knows that Alessio would never look at Amara with anything more than casual interest—as his woman’s cousin—that doesn’t stop the deep possessiveness that rushes through me. I don’t want her name in another man’s mouth. Not even my best friend’s, no matter how illogical that is. “She’s fine,” I tell him tightly.

Silence echoes down the line just long enough for me to know he’s picked up on the tension. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it and instead replies briskly, “Good. Keep her that way. Send your coordinates to your father, and we’ll have someone on their way to you within a couple of hours.”

Then he’s gone. Except, I know that won’t be the end of it. I’ll hear from him again, wanting to know what the hell is going on.

The man is nosy as shit, and also my best friend, meaning there isn’t much I can keep from him.

I call my father, who answers on the second ring. “Get yourself into some trouble, figlio?” he asks briskly.

“Nothing I can’t handle. Were you worried about me, Papa?” I taunt.

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