Page 17 of Pietro
I stand frozen in her doorway, my prepared speech dying on my lips.
Nora Kelly is a fucking vision.
Her hair, Christ, her hair. It's down for the first time since I've known her, in waves past her shoulders. At the office, she keeps it pulled back so severely I never realized how much of it there was. It frames her face like a painting, making her green eyes even more striking against her pale skin.
She's wearing some kind of soft-looking shorts that reveal long legs I've only imagined beneath her professional skirts. Her oversized t-shirt slips off one shoulder, exposing a delicate collarbone.
The tear tracks on her cheeks make her look vulnerable in a way I've never seen, and there are freckles—fucking freckles—scattered across her nose that she must cover with makeup at work.
I clear my throat, trying to recover. "Get dressed. You're coming with me today."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"
"Family dinner. I need you there." The words come out harsher than intended.
She laughs, the sound both musical and incredulous. "You need your secretary at a family dinner? On a Sunday?"
I hadn't planned this. The truth is, I woke up this morning with the sudden, inexplicable need to see her. The excuse formed on the drive over.
"I need to go through some paperwork at the estate office afterward," I say, the lie tasting bitter. "The quarterly reports are due tomorrow, and there are discrepancies in the shipping manifests that need to be addressed immediately."
Even to my own ears, I sound like a fucking idiot. Nora's expression confirms it.
"You couldn't have called first?" she asks, crossing her arms. The movement pulls her shirt tighter across her chest, and I force my eyes to stay on her face.
"I did. Dead line." Another lie. I didn't even try calling.
"Look, I appreciate the offer, but I have plans today that don't involve spreadsheets or shipping manifests." She moves to close the door.
I put my hand out, stopping it. "This isn't a request, Nora. It's part of your job."
Her eyes flash with defiance, and for a moment I think she might tell me to go fuck myself. Instead, she rolls her eyes dramatically.
"Fine. Give me fifteen minutes to get dressed." She turns toward what I assume is her bedroom, adding over her shoulder, "And finish my ice cream if you want. It's melting."
As she walks away, my eyes drop to the sway of her hips, the curve of her ass in those shorts. Heat pools low in my stomach,my cock hardening instantly. I shift uncomfortably, cursing under my breath.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, shattering the moment. I pull it out, seeing Nico's name on the screen. My youngest brother only calls when things are serious.
"What?"
"We've got a problem." Nico's voice is tight, controlled. "That shipment from Naples? Someone's been skimming. Fabio caught one of the dock workers loading boxes into his personal vehicle."
"Fuck. How much?"
"Enough that we noticed. And this isn't the first time."
I pace Nora's small living room, the muscles in my jaw working. "Where is he now?"
"Warehouse three. Lorenzo's with him, but we need you here. The guy's claiming he has protection from higher up."
"Higher than me?" My voice drops to a dangerous whisper.
"That's why I called. We need to send a message."
"I'll be there in twenty." I hang up and shove the phone back in my pocket.
I stride to Nora's bedroom door and raise my fist to knock, but hesitate. The sound of drawers opening and closing comes from inside. I picture her changing, slipping that oversized shirt over her head, and my mouth goes dry.
