Page 27 of Brutal Vows
“Pinot is his favorite. He drinks it by the gallon. Let’s have some with the tagliatelle.”
“Wow. Wonders never cease. Okay, Mamma, you’re on.”
I head to the wine fridge, select a bottle, and bring it over to the counter to open it, when a man walks through the kitchen door.
It’s the Irishman.
My heart clenches. My face goes hot. I draw in a sharp breath and freeze.
“Hullo,” he says in a throaty voice, gazing at me.
Past my shock, I manage to say,“You.”
He sends me his signature smirk. “Aye. Me.”
He’s holding a wrapped bouquet of white roses. He’s wearing a black suit again. Armani, by the looks of it. His tie and shirt are black, too. On any other man, that much black would make him look like a game show host or an undertaker.
Thisman in head-to-toe black looks like a runway model who moonlights as an assassin, the smug fucker.
And oh, sweet Jesus have mercy on my soul, I am not noticing how tight the suit is around his crotch area.
I do not see that substantial bulge.
I donot.
I say stiffly, “What are you doing in my kitchen?”
His heated gaze takes a leisurely trip over my body, head to toe and back again. He licks his lips.
“I was in town. I wanted to see Lili.”
I exhale hard and set the bottle of wine on the counter with such force, my mother jumps in her chair.
“If you’d like to see Liliana, Mr. Quinn, you’ll have to make arrangements prior to showing up at our home unannounced. Regardless of how things are done in the Mob, this family has certain standards of conduct.”
“Oh, come now, lass,” he chides, enjoying my agitation at his sudden, unwelcome appearance. “A man should be able to see his fiancée without penciling it in on a calendar.”
Knowing there’s nothing I can do to stop him from showing up any damn time he likes, he smiles.
He’s so lucky I don’t already have the wine opener in my hand. He’d have a corkscrew shoved up his ass before he could speak another word.
Into the ensuing silence, my mother says, “Hey. Irish.”
Quinn looks at her. Judging by his expression, he’s surprised to see someone else in the room. She points to a cabinet behind him.
“The vases are in there. When you’re done arranging the flowers, you can open the wine.” She smiles. “If you can pry it out of Reyna’s hand, that is.”
“Pardon my manners,” Quinn says. “I didn’t see you sitting there.”
“I know. You were too busy annoying my daughter.”
“Mrs. Caruso?”
“The one and only.” She chuckles. “Well, now. The rest of them are worm food.”
God, my mother has a dark sense of humor.
Quinn crosses the kitchen and extends his hand to her. He says respectfully, “It’s my honor to meet you, ma’am. I’m Homer.”
