Page 16 of How To Tempt The Off-Limits Billionaire

“Sure, it is,” Pasco said with a wide grin.

“Why are you out here and not being a control freak in your kitchen?” Muzi asked him, reverting to English.

“I only flew in yesterday so I’m taking it easy tonight.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Ro politely told him.

“No, you’re not,” Muzi snapped. He saw Ro’s eyes widen at his harsh retort and shrugged. She raised her eyebrows, looking for an explanation for his rudeness, but there was no way he could tell her that he wanted to be alone with her, to have her complete attention on him.

What a sap.

“Pas is a horrible bore, he just likes to talk about food and wine,” Muzi said, wincing at his weak clarification.

Pasco rolled his eyes, picked up Ro’s hand and dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “I’d love to join you and I might, later.”

Now the jackass was just messing with him. He’d pay, Muzi thought. Somehow, somewhere.

Pasco led them into the restaurant, which only consisted of twenty or so tables, with another ten on the patio outside. Pasco threaded his way through the tables, touching shoulders and trading quips as he passed his customers, Muzi and Ro trailing behind.

Pasco stopped a few feet short of the outside dining area and slapped his hand on his forehead, grimacing as he looked at Muzi. “Crap.”

“Problem?” Muzi asked him.

Pasco looked embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m jet-lagged but that’s not an excuse. I forgot to tell you that Keane is here.”

It took all his effort to hide his annoyance, to keep his cool. He shrugged. “No biggie.”

Pasco gave him a “Who are you kidding?” look. “I can juggle some tables and put you inside.”

No, he wanted to sit in the balmy air and under the twinkling fairy lights and the man he’d once been closer to than anyone else, a man he’d considered his brother, would not chase him away. He hadn’t done anything wrong, dammit, and refused to act as if he had.

“He’s dining with his mother,” Pasco added.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus. That was all he needed.

“It’s fine, Pas,” Muzi said through gritted teeth. It wasn’t but he’d be damned if he’d let anyone see his annoyance or discomfort. Especially Susan.

Muzi reached for Ro’s hand and when her fingers slid into his, his heart rate dropped, his shoulders and jaw loosened, and he was able to take a full breath. She steadied him, he realized, just being around her made him feel more relaxed.

Horny but relaxed. A curious combination. He glanced down at their linked hands, dark and pale, and shook his head, wondering why this woman had such an effect on him. He’d met her just a few days ago and here he was, holding her hand as he walked across the patio behind the country’s most lauded chef.

Muzi saw Keane, the fairy lights making his deep auburn hair seem redder than normal, sitting at a four-seater table on the other side of the room. Keane looked up, caught his eye, started to smile and then, as if remembering that he was the enemy, frowned. They locked glances for twenty seconds and then Susan put her hand on his arm, tugging his attention away. Keane’s face hardened as she whispered words in his ear and Muzi saw the distaste on his face when Keane looked his way again. Yep, Susan was doing another fine job of poisoning the well...

Pasco pulled out Ro’s chair, got her settled, and when Pas looked at him, Muzi saw the sympathy on his face. Narrowing his eyes to make it clear to his friend not to say anything, Pasco gave him the smallest of nods.

Muzi knew that, when they were alone, Pasco would ask him, once again, whether he could talk to Keane on his behalf. Digby had made the same offer more than a dozen times but Muzi was adamant: he was a big boy and he didn’t need his friends playing peacemaker or interceding on his behalf. He and Keane would work it out themselves.

Or they wouldn’t.

It was between him and Keane. He refused to put his mates in the middle of a family argument.

Either way, he’d be fine. He always was. But Muzi couldn’t help opening his fingers and looking at the fine scar on the palm of his hand. A lifetime ago, he and Keane watched a movie featuring friends who made a blood oath and, being ten and stupid, thought a blood oath was a cool idea. They’d sliced their hands open and shaken hands, feeling very cool and very grown-up.

The resulting infections, thanks to the rusty knife they used, hadn’t been much fun...

But it turned out blood oaths and promises meant nothing, words even less.

Ro looked from Muzi to the table where the redheaded man was seated and she felt a tight band of tension between the two tables, an undeniable connection.

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