Page 48 of Text Me, Take Me

“No, we can’t.” When Rafe looks at me curiously, I say, “I had two men stay behind and hand him off to the cops as soon as we left.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t trust the mob.”

“Dom, youarethe mob.”

I run a hand through my hair. “Let’s get these women somewhere safe. Then we’ll figure out our next step.”

As I drive through Topanga Canyon, I reflect on the fact that today’s fuck-up had a grim silver lining. It means that I don’t have to let my Keepsake go right away. I unlock the gate, park, then go searching for her.

She’s in her studio, thewhirof some tool the only noise as she leans intently over her worktable. Meatball meows and approaches me. I kneel, greeting the cat, then pick him up and watch as Evie loses herself in her work.

Even with her back turned to me, I can read the passion in her movements. I wonder how long she’s been in here, utterly lost to her craft, and I imagine a different scenario, a different life, in which I was watching my woman, my girlfriend, not my prisoner.

Finally, she lays down her tool and turns, starting when she sees me.

“How long have you been there?” she asks.

“I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked lost–in love with your craft.”

She walks toward me, smiling as if she’s unsure if she should allow herself. She’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts, no bra as usual, her nipples poking through the fabric. I put Meatball down and remind myself to be calm. I can’t let my lust erupt like it did before I left her for a week.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

She frowns.

“Is something wrong?”

“Uh – no.” She bites her lip. “Is something wrong with you? You seem tense.”

“It’s been some day.”

I gesture to the door. She walks toward it, then stops, trails her hand along my chest. She looks into my eyes with that classic Evie complexity. “I lied before. Somethingiswrong.”

“Tell me.”

“You don’t seem to want to kiss me hello.”

I laugh savagely. “I’m afraid what will happen if I kiss you. And I’m afraid you won’t want to kiss me when you learn what I did today.”

Her answer? She throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around me and standing on her tiptoes to bring her lips to mine. I gasp as I kiss her, holding her tightly, my desire and my emotions responding in equal measure.

Lifting her off her feet, I let my hands move to the tempting perfection of her ass.

It takes a lot of effort to put her down, to stop myself from going the rest of the way and mauling her, but I pull back.

“What happened?” she asks.

I take a step back. “I killed a man.”

She gasps, looking at me as if she doesn’t recognize me. “Who? Why?”

“We caught a Vulture. He was just a kid.”

“You killed akid?”

“He was a young man, but at my age, he seemed like a teenager.”

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