Page 93 of Tainted Princess
“No, you listen, Agent fuckface—”
“Enzo,” I said, not wanting this to turn into an actual pissing contest. “It’s alright. Let him in.”
Enzo spun to look at me, his eyes hard. “What do you mean, let him in? Why the fuck would we let this jackass in?”
“Because I’m really not in the mood to clean up his blood from the hallway floor,” I deadpanned, and was rewarded with a sexy grin from Enzo.
“Alright, babe.” Turning back to the door, Enzo swung it wide and stepped back. “You’ve got ten minutes. Make it count, because this will be the last time you lay eyes on her, you get me?”
I didn’t hear Eric’s response, but he must have agreed, because the next thing I knew he was standing in front of me, his eyes full of regret as he stared at me like I was his salvation.
He should have known I was more likely to damn him than save him.
“Francesca,” he breathed, his eyes taking me in from head to toe. “You look,” he swallowed, and I realized I was still standing in Enzo’s shirt, likely with some serious sex hair.
Perfect. I hope it felt like a kick in the balls. Served him right.
“You look good,” he finished lamely, glancing between my bare legs and my shirtless husband who had moved to stand behind me, still holding a gun.
“Thanks. You look like shit.”
He did. Eric looked like he’d lost about twenty-five pounds and hadn’t slept in a month. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair was long overdue for a cut. His eyes, which had once sparkled with mischief when we were finding quiet places to steal kisses where we wouldn’t be seen, now looked like he was one bad day away from blowing his own brains out.
“What is it that you came to say, Special Agent Morrison,” I said, liking the way he flinched at my cold tone and formal address. “Because, in case you didn’t notice, we’re a bit busy.” There was no mistaking the innuendo in my words, and Enzo didn’t disappoint when he picked up what I was hinting at and slid his arm around me, grasping my hip possessively and placing a warm kiss on my temple.
Eric clenched his jaw, his eyes darting away in discomfort before he ground out, “You’ll make time for this.”
Something about the way he said that had my stomach clenching. True, Eric had lied to me; he’d lied every single day I’d known him. But I didn’t think he was prone to mellow dramatics.
“Babe,” Enzo said, not taking his eyes off Eric from where he stood across the room. “Why don’t you get dressed so we can hear what this asshole has to say. Then you and me can get back to what we were doing.” He punctuated the statement with a quick slap on my ass, and it took everything I had not to frown.
Proprietary asshole.
Well, two could play at that game.
“Sure thing,babe,” I said, trying to keep the mockery to a minimum. As Enzo moved to step away, I reached out and slid my fingers into the waist band of his pants, pulling him sharply back toward me. While he was off balance, I popped up on my toes and planted a kiss on his partially open mouth, lingering a bit and drawing his lower lip between my teeth, tugging it firmly as I lowered down again. “I’ll be right back,” I smirked into his shocked face.
I returned less than two minutes later—having thrown on jeans and a knit sweater and given my hair a good brushing—to find the two men still standing on opposite sides of the room, glaring at each other.
I could practically smell the testosterone.
Rolling my eyes at the ridiculous nature of alpha males, I walked right past them both and headed for the kitchen to start the coffee.
“Alright,” I said, pointing to the kitchen table. “Both of you, sit.”
Enzo narrowed his eyes at me before planting his ass in the chair that allowed him to see the whole room, but Eric gave me a soft smile. “I always liked you in bossy mode.”
“Now is not the time for reminiscing, Special Agent,” I snapped, because there was no way I was going to listen to a bunch of bullshit about how his lies shouldn’t have mattered when it came to our relationship. “Say what you came to say and leave.”
“Of course,” he said, and took the seat at the opposite side from where Enzo had sat, his eyes on the gun that was now casually laid on table. “I’ll just cut right to it, then.
“Your grandfather was shot last night.”
That one sentence created a whole host of thoughts and emotions inside me, not all of which I was ready for. I had spent the last six months hardening myself in the face of my family’s dismissal, telling myself that their distance and outright rejection was their loss, not mine, but there was no denying the sharp stab of pain that tore through my chest when confronted with the possible loss of my grandfather, Don Carlo De Marco.
I couldn’t seem to form words, the tightness in my chest preventing any air from exiting or entering, and I was suddenly dizzy. Enzo, observant bastard that he was, reacted right away, standing from the table and reaching for me. He drew me to his chest, and in the midst of everything spinning in my brain, I was still able to notice that he still hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on. His warmth infused me, and I relaxed into his hold for a moment, feeling that with him there, I could give myself a moment to process.
“Is he dead?” Enzo’s blunt question rumbled through his chest, the words vibrating against my forehead where it pressed against his hot skin, and I looked up quickly, catching the brief flash of pain that danced across Eric’s face as he looked at us, but he locked his expression down quickly.
