Page 16 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

Heat rises to my cheeks. “How did you know about that?”

“Background check, remember?” His lips quirk. “Your library card gets quite a workout.”

“They’re an escape.” I set down my spoon and pull my shoulders back defensively. “And they’re well-researched. I’ve learned more about the Regency era from romance novels than I ever did in history class.”

“I prefer action movies myself.” He signals for more wine. “The plots may be ridiculous, but there’s something satisfying about watching things explode. ‘Die Hard’ is the best.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a ‘Die Hard’ fan,” I say with a slight laugh.

“The first three are classics.” His eyes spark with genuine enthusiasm. “Though the fourth one had its moments.” He frowns. “The fifth one set in Russia wasgovno.”

I don’t require a translation for that, being able to infer his opinion was negative even without understanding the word. “What about music?” I ask, curious about this unexpected side of him.

“Classical, primarily. Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff.” He names composers I vaguely remember from music appreciation class. “Modern music lacks... sophistication.”

“Says the man who enjoys watching Bruce Willis blow up things.”

His laugh rolls through the room. “Point taken.”

“I tried learning guitar once. Lasted about two weeks before my neighbors threatened to call the police.”

“That bad?”

“Worse. My rendition of ‘Wonderwall’ made cats cry.”

The conversation shifts as servers clear our plates. Valerian’s expression turns more predatory. “Tell me about your past relationships,” he says, and his words sound more demanding.

I stiffen. “Nothing serious. A few dates here and there. A couple of longer relationships. One guy I lived with in college, but it fell apart when he was offered a job in California, and I didn’t want to leave Philly.”

“No one else special?”

“No.” I keep my answer short, unwilling to discuss my romantic history in detail with a man who essentially owns me.

“Interesting.” He studies me over his wine glass. “I find commitment to be a bit inconvenient myself. My liaisons rarely last beyond sunrise.”

The crude implication makes my cheeks burn. “How fortunate for them.”

“Indeed.” His eyes darken. “Though perhaps it’s time for a change.”

A yawn catches me by surprise as the dessert plates are cleared away, saving me from having to respond to that loaded comment.

“It’s been a long day. I’ll show you to your room,” he says.

“I should give you a massage first.” The words come out slightly slurred. Maybe that last glass of wine wasn’t the best idea.

“Not tonight.” He stands, offering his hand. “You’re exhausted, and I prefer my massage therapists alert and coordinated.”

His palm is warm against mine when he helps me up. The contact sends tingles up my arm.

We climb the grand staircase in comfortable silence. The plush carpet muffles our footsteps. The closer we get to stopping, the more my stomach twists. Will he really respect this agreement to be strictly professional, or is he planning to try to join me in my bedroom?

6

Valerian

Ilead Claire down the hallway, where the blue room awaits at the end of the corridor, its sapphire silk curtains visible through the open doorway. As we approach, I notice her hesitation, gaze darting between me and the room.

“This will be your quarters during your stay,” I say, gesturing for her to enter.

---