Filthy (A Bad Boy Romance)(12)

“So…all this with me. With us. It’s really just to get you out of the house. Maybe yank his chain a little. Am I right?”

Her gaze jerks up to mine as if I’ve accused her of kicking a kitten. But she doesn’t deny it.

“You know, it’s okay. I get it.” She’s quiet, just letting me talk. “And I mean, what should I care if I get some smoking-hot sex out of it?”

Her eyes narrow as if she’s trying to decide whether she should be offended. She probably should be. Somehow I don’t think she is. “That’s not all it is,” she says after a few moments.

“You sure about that?”

Again, she considers her answer. And then she smiles. “No. Not really.”

I laugh and pat her hand. “So…what do you have to study to become a physician’s assistant?”

She entertains me for the next several minutes talking about her classes. I try hard to pay attention—I really do—but it’s not exactly scintillating material. Still, she’s passionate about it, and I like the way her eyes light up as she’s talking. So I watch her eyes and her mouth and wonder if she’s ever given a guy a blowjob. I could teach her that. That’d be a good addition to her syllabus.

After the meal I’m surprised when she takes me up on my offer of dessert and coffee. After the boring meal I figured she’d beg off any major calories. But she orders tiramisu and gives me a sly look. “Plain-ish pasta means I can have dessert.”

“Ah, so there was a method to your madness.”

“Always.”

Watching her eat tiramisu is like watching her have an orgasm. I can barely focus on my wedge of chocolate cake. All I want to do is focus on her face and think about what I could do to put that same kind of ecstasy there. My dick’s gone hard—no surprise there—and my hands twitch with a need to touch her. Finally I give up and lay my fork down.

She finishes a few seconds later and gives me a look like she knows exactly what I’ve been thinking. At least she’s smiling again. The faint redness her tears left around her eyes has faded.

“We should get out of here,” I suggest. “You want to go someplace a little more…”

I don’t even have to finish the sentence. She knows just where I’m going with that. “Yes. I do.”

#

With the bill paid and a generous tip tucked under one of the empty plates, we head out of the restaurant. I’ve got one thing on my mind—getting inside Jessica. She’s relaxed, far more than she’s been all night. Whether it was the wine, the coffee, or the tiramisu, I don’t care. Whatever’s going to get her into my bed is fine with me. Her hand clamped in mine, I’ve got a one-track mind and I’m not afraid to use it.

Then, suddenly, she stops. I pull up short, still holding her hand and realizing she’s not moving. I turn around.

Well. Just when I thought we were going to get out of here without any issues. Joy.

Carmine Romano is standing just behind us in the restaurant lobby. He’s got hold of Jessica’s elbow, and he’s eyeing her up and down like she’s a piece of meat. I turn to face them both.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

“You can take your goddamn hands off my fiancée, for one.”

That takes me aback for about a half second. Then I remember what Jess said earlier: marry the man Pop wants me to marry. This guy? Seriously?

I don’t let go of Jessica’s hand. Instead I turn my attention fully to her. “Jess, do you know this guy?” Dumb question. Of course she does; he’s her dad’s right-hand asshole.

“Yes.”

“Are you his fiancée?”

“No,” she shoots back, her spine straightening.

I give Carmine a look—one of those that makes people cower when they catch it across the ring. Carmine flinches, but only slightly.

“She’s with me.”

“Oh really?” He’s got his smug back, and he’s wearing it like a jacket. It doesn’t suit him.

“Take your fucking hands off her.”

We’re gathering some attention, and I don’t like that. I give Carmine’s hand a meaningful look; he’s still got hold of Jessica’s elbow.

He leaves his hand where it is for a long moment, just long enough to make it clear he’s letting her go because he wants to, not because I told him to. We’ll see about that.

“You’ve been sleeping around with this prick behind my back? You fucking whore.” His mouth twists around the ugly words, making them even uglier.

I try not to jerk at Jessica’s hand, instead drawing her more gently back to my side. That strange urge to protect her has welled up inside me again. Maybe there really is a decent guy down in there, inside me somewhere. Not likely, but I suppose anything’s possible. I ease her partially behind me and face Carmine squarely.

“You want to take that back.”

“No, I don’t.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

His eyes narrow. He’s not much shorter than me, and he’s not exactly out of shape. But I know he’s not a fighter. He works out—I see him at the gym sometimes—but he’s built his muscle for looks, not for strength, speed, or anything useful. I can take him with one hand tied behind my back. Shit, I could probably take him with both hands tied behind my back. He ought to know this, but I get the feeling he doesn’t.

“She’s been promised to me since we were kids. You know that, Jess. It’s what your dad wants.” His voice is smarmy, cloying.

I really, really want to hit him.

“I don’t give a shit what my dad wants,” Jess shoots back. Good for her. She’s no shrinking violet, just like I figured from the beginning. She’ll give as good as she gets. But she’s still a woman, and Carmine’s a man, and he’s bigger and stronger than she is, and he could hurt her if he wanted to. And he’s the kind of asshole who just might want to.

I could hurt her too, if I’m not careful. Not on purpose. But it’s what I do. I’m not sure I know how to be any other way. I swallow back that thought. It’s one that always scares me. I don’t need that right now.

Carmine has worked up to a snarl, his almost-attractive face screwed up into something ugly. “You think anything you say matters?” I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to Jess. Maybe both of us. I do know he’s drawing a crowd, and I don’t want that. I start to steer us toward the door. Carmine wants to come at me, he can fucking well do it outside where not as many people are in the way.

Predictably he follows. “You’re nothing, Cain. You’re shit. You know that. You’re just Spada’s dog.”

I clench my fist as I push through the door. It’s chilly outside, just enough to take the edge off the heat of anger sliding through my veins. Romano doesn’t know what he’s fucking with.

“And you…” Romano won’t shut up, and he’s stabbing a finger at Jessica now. “You’re his daughter.” He says it like a daughter is more than a few steps down from the dog he just labeled me as. “You know damn well you’ll do what he says. And what he says is that you’ll marry me.”

He’s on a roll. I wonder what he’s trying to prove. I’d bet everything in my wallet right now—and that’s not an insubstantial amount—that he’s never had Jess. He sure as hell hasn’t seen her come apart like she does with me. No way in hell.

I face him squarely, now that we’re outside. I know damn well what’s about to come out of my mouth should just stay there, but I can’t seem to stop the words once they start. He’s got me so pissed off my eyeballs feel like they’re on fire. “Even if you get married, she’s still going to be thinking about me every time you wave that tiny dick at her.”

Romano’s face burns red. I’ve pushed him too far. Maybe he’ll drop dead of a heart attack right here. I have a feeling that would save us a lot of trouble in the long run.

Through clenched teeth, he growls. His gaze swings to Jessica. “Get over here right now.”

“No!”

He spits—actually spits—on the sidewalk at her feet.

Before I know what’s happening, my fist has connected with Romano’s jaw. He loses his balance and hits the concrete sidewalk. There’s blood on his mouth. I hope I knocked out a tooth. It’d serve him right. I stand right next to him, staring down at where he’s huddled on the ground. There are people all around us, milling, shocked, wondering what to do. I think about beating the shit out of him right here, right now, but instead I just wait until he manages to turn his head, to meet my gaze.

“Learn some manners, Romano,” I tell him. “You ever talk to Jess that way again, and I’ll straight-up kill you.”

I hear him spitting again as Jessica and I head back for the car. Apparently nobody’s thought to call the cops. Unsurprising. It’s probably not the first time they’ve seen somebody punched in the face outside Cartelli’s. I hustle her a little faster than she can walk in her heels, but I just want away from there.

“Cain,” she protests. “Cain, slow down. I’m going to fall and break my neck.”