Page 57 of To Have and To Hold

“This way.” I tugged her to turn left on Cedar Street.”

“Isn’t the parking garage that way?”

“It is. One more surprise.”

When we came to a stop in front of a bakery with a line out the door, Isabella groaned. “I can’t eat more food. Besides, if we stand in this line, we’ll miss sunset.”

“It would be criminal to bring you to Little Italy without getting the best cannoli you’ve ever tasted.”

I tugged her past the line.

“What are you doing? Em, we can’t cut.”

We came to a stop at the counter. As soon as Beatrice, one of the owners, saw us, her smile widened. “Emiliano.” She reached for a small white paper bag. “For you.”

She’d obviously gotten my text message.

“Beatrice, you’re the best.” I reached for the bag and handed it to Isabella before reaching for my wallet.

“No. Go.” She shooed us with a brush of her hand. “Can’t you see I’m busy.”

“I can’t?—”

She smiled. “Next time you can pay.” Her gaze went to Isabella at my side. “I’m sure you two have plans. Go.”

“Gracias.”

“Prego. Go.”

“Does everyone flirt with you?” Isabella asked as we stepped outside.

“Beatrice is sixty years old if she’s a day.”

“That doesn’t mean she can’t flirt.” She opened the white bag. “Oh, those smell delicious.”

By the time we reached the parking garage, my willpower was failing. I opened Isabella’s car door but before she could sit, I pinned her against the car, my left arm caging her. She tipped her face upward, soft suede irises meeting mine as she nibbled on her lower lip.

With my other hand, I reached for her chin, freeing her lip. “Whenever I see you do that, it makes me want to bite your luscious lip to see how good it tastes.”

Her smile returned. “No biting.”

My grin quirked. “You don’t know. You might like it.”

She dropped the cannoli to the seat and lifted her arms around my neck. “I know I like your kisses.”

Fuck yeah.

Cupping her neck, I pulled her toward me until our lips met. She tasted of sunshine and garlic. When a soft moan came from her throat, I was ready to blow a wad.

Beyond our bubble, I heard the distinctive click of a cocking gun.

“In the car now.” My timbre changed. “Lock the doors.” Isabella looked confused. I shoved her into the car. In less than a second I shut the car door, hit the thumb safety on my Beretta, and then pointed my loaded gun toward the shadows. Twenty feet away, standing near a large concrete pylon, I saw the culprit. “Drop your gun, motherfucker.” With my arms straight, I walked toward him. Step by step, my boots echoed on the concrete as he remained in my sights.

The asshole couldn’t be over fifteen years old. He was shaking like a leaf. If he wasn’t careful, he’d shoot himself or possibly me. Even though I was his target, I had better things to do than take a bullet.

“Drop the gun now.” I was less than ten feet away.

Fuck. The darkening of his sweatpants let me know he pissed himself.

---