Page 59 of Mafia Captor

“Thank you. I’m so glad you’re here with me.” I grab his hands in mine, stepping back to get a good look at him. He looks so handsome in his borrowed suit. Boston’s right. He’s no longer a kid. He’s a full-grown man. When did that happen? I guess I was wearing my big sister goggles, blind to his transformation.

I squeeze his hands in mine. “You look great. That working out is paying off. Are you guys lifting tomorrow?”

“It’s a rest day. Gotta give the body time to lower those cortisol levels and raise the glycogen. Besides,” his gaze shifts to meet Boston’s, “Boss and I have other plans tomorrow.”

“That’s great.” Just when I couldn’t be happier, my heart warms even more. I love that they are spending time together. I picture them doing something normal. Golfing, maybe? I almost giggle, trying to picture Boston in a pink polo and white golf pants, tattoos all over the place. Cute. I might suggest it. Boston’s standing beside me, and I look over at him. “What are you guys getting into?”

He gives a shrug. His eyes drop away from mine. He smooths a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Just stuff.”

An icy trickle trips up my spine. “Like, work stuff?”

His hand moves from his jaw to the back of his neck. I try to catch his eye but he’s suddenly entranced by something on the ceiling, his attention looking upward in avoidance.

I could ask him what they’re doing, but Beckett will be easier to crack. I can’t stop my hands from planting on my hips. “Beckett. What stuff?”

He looks at the floor, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants. He nudges the hardwood with the toe of his shoe. “Ah, you know. Just guy stuff.”

That riles me up. Sasha prances over, standing by my side. Two women facing off with boys. My arms cross over my chest, a hip jutting out.

“‘Guy stuff,’ as in, because I have two x chromosomes, I don’t have the right to know what my younger brother is up to?” I say.

Boston slips an arm around my shoulders. A gesture of love? Or an attempt to calm a hysterical woman? “It’s nothing to worry about, babe,” he says, planting a kiss on the top of my head.

The kiss of death… for him. He’s trying to placate me. Oh. Heck. No.

“I’ll decide if I want to worry or not.” I kiss my brother’s cheek. “Night, Beckett. Sleep well.” I pass the boys, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “Boston, we need to talk.”

Looks like this perfect couple is about to have their very first real fight. And it’s going to be a knock-down, drag-out. Boston needs to know—

You don’t fudge around with the big sister.

I march all the way up to my bedroom, waiting till we’re both inside with the door closed before I speak.

He crosses the room to where I stand, slipping his hands around my waist and goes in for a kiss. I stop him, putting a hand firmly to his chest.

I stare into his eyes. They’ve got sex written all over them. Focus, Ashely.

I press my hand further into him. “This is serious. No funny business. We need to talk.”

“Let’s talk, baby.” But his eyes are on my lips and he’s dragging his tongue over his like he wants to kiss me.

“Boston.”

“Okay, okay. Here. You go sit on the bed. I’ll sit in the chair. If there’s a few feet between us, maybe I can keep my hands off you. Maybe.”

I go to the bed. He goes to the armchair by the fireplace. His eyes are now on my breasts.

“Am I going to have to put a garbage bag around my body or are you going to focus?”

“I’m sorry. You’re just so damn sexy.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Alright. You’ve got me. Shoot.”

“I don’t want Beckett involved in your work stuff. He can help with the cars. Do some landscaping. Whatever. No mafia stuff.”

He looks down at his Doc Martens boots.

He’s not saying anything.

“Boston.” My voice grows desperate. “I don’t want him getting into that stuff. He’s a good boy. I want him to stay that way.”

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