Page 42 of On Ice

Oops.

I had Marco dig into his background, so I know more about Evan than he’d like. He wouldn’t want me to know that his mother has Alzheimer’s, or that his father once had a drinkingproblem. He’d resent me knowing that he has a brother who suffers from PTSD from serving as a Marine in Afghanistan. But all those little details help soften my anger toward him for what he did tonight during the game.

But now is not the time to tell him how much I know.

Hoping to keep things vague, I say, “We all have our problems, right?”

He keeps his suspicious gaze on me for a few seconds, then he turns to stare out the window again. “I guess.”

A silence falls as we leave the city behind. After a while, his breathing slows and deepens, and I suspect he’s struggling to stay awake. Every few seconds his body jerks as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

“It’s not much farther,” I say.

He sits up, clearing his throat. “I’m not that tired. And even if I was, I’d rather sleep in a dumpster than at your home.”

I squash my smile. He’s such a prideful prick, but his rebellious nature kind of turns me on. I’d love to take him to my bed tonight, and make him submit to me. I’d give anything to have him beneath me, moaning like that first night. But if we can ever get to that point with each other again, it’s going to take a lot of finesse.

We pass the last public road, turning onto the private drive that marks the beginning of Barone territory. The city’s glow is just a memory now, the darkness absolute except for my headlights and the occasional gleam of security cameras.

When we reach the main gate, one of my men, Carlo, emerges from the shadows, flanked by two other men. His hand moves away from his weapon the moment he recognizes my car.Even in darkness, I catch his alert gaze as he notices Evan in the passenger seat.

“Welcome home, boss,” Carlo says when I roll down my window.

“Thanks, Carlo.” I accelerate past him, passing more of my soldiers patrolling the grounds. Between the men, infrared cameras, and dogs, this truly is the safest place for Evan.

The limestone façade of my home emerges from the darkness as we round the final curve. Motion-activated lights illuminate the way, but most of the mansion’s windows are dark. It’s after midnight and my mother and siblings will be asleep.

I park the car near the fountain and get out first. Opening Evan’s door, I wait as he slowly exits the vehicle, wincing. When I pull out a pocket knife, he watches me apprehensively. I shake my head at how little he trusts me and slice the zip tie, letting it fall to the ground. Relief flashes in his eyes as he rubs his wrists, still watching me.

“Let’s get inside,” I say.

He moves stiffly, dried mud flaking from his clothes. When I move to brush some of the caked mud from his clothes, he whirls around, looking ready to fight.

I laugh. “You’re a mess. I don’t want you dropping mud all through my house.”

He watches me suspiciously, then he swipes his hands over his clothing, helping to knock off the stuff that’s loose. “It wasn’t my idea for you to bring me here.”

“I know.” I shrug. “You’re here by necessity.” I lead the way up the steps. I’m grateful when he simply follows instead of me having to haul him up the stairs forcibly. I let us into the housewith my key, and our shoes echo on the marble floor. Moonlight filters through the high windows, casting strange shadows around the foyer.

Evan scowls back at the family portraits that hang on the walls, and eyes and the expensive décor of my home. “No wonder you’re out of touch with reality,” he says softly. “You live like a king.”

“I’m not out of touch.” I frown. “My reality is just different from yours.”

“If you say so.” He follows me up the main staircase, hands in his pockets.

I lead him to the guest suite next door to my room. I want to keep him close, plus there’s an connecting door. That makes having access to Evan easier. Not something he’ll be a fan of, but I love the idea. If we become friendly again, like I hope, it sure will be convenient to have that connecting door.

I push open the door to the suite, and Evan steps inside, taking it all in. The guest room is a blend of understated luxury and elegance. The walls are painted a soft, muted sage, lending the space a calming, earthy feel. Crown molding frames the high ceilings, and the hardwood floors gleam with a warm, inviting sheen. A four-poster bed with crisp white linens and a plush navy duvet takes center stage. Antique mahogany nightstands sit on either side of the bed, each topped with a small brass lamp.

Underfoot, a Persian rug in rich blues and golds softens the room’s edges and adds a splash of color. A fireplace anchors one side of the room, while a seating area near the window features two upholstered armchairs and a small marble-topped table. Heavy velvet curtains in deep blue, tied back with gold tassels, frame the large window, completing the elegant atmosphere.

“There’s clean, dry clothes in the dresser.” I point toward a large mahogany dresser against one wall. Over it hangs a large oil painting of Sicily.

He frowns. “Is this your room?”

“No. It’s just a guest room.”

“Jesus, who do you usually have as a guest? The King of England?” Despite his sarcasm, he relaxes slightly, but then tenses up again. “Whose clothes would I be wearing from the dresser? You’re last kidnap victim’s?”

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