Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(194)

CHAPTER 1


Callie

Auger snored softly on the couch with his thick, muscular arm thrown up to shield his eyes from the searing morning sun. His broad chest rose slowly with every breath and soft, growling noises filled the room.

Callie bit her lips together and tried to ignore him and just get her work done on the other side of the small living room/kitchen combo. But every time she commanded herself to simply concentrate, somehow the camera just seemed to shift on its own, drawing him back into the frame. Even from across the room, while she pretended she couldn’t, she could see every ripple of every muscle under his skin. The sunlight caught every golden hair on his chest and lit it on fire.

This is stupid. This is stupid, she scolded herself silently. Just get back to work. Ignore the snoring giant on the sofa. Ignore him. Or else.

The door opened behind her and she deliberately shifted her back to it as her brother, Bryce, shuffled through the entryway. Peering at the camera’s display, she pushed tiny buttons and dials to toggle the exposure higher and alter the shutter speed again.

Bryce came up behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder for just a second to annoy her. She pretended not to notice him as he surveyed the scene: Callie looking busy in the kitchen, Auger sleeping with his shirt off under the bay window.

It looks perfectly innocent, she told herself as she stabbed the camera’s buttons pointlessly with her thumbnail. Oh, well… That’s because it is perfectly innocent. I’m not doing anything wrong. Just taking a picture of this damn plate of food, with nothing on my mind at all. Nope. Not me.

So why do I feel so guilty?

Callie sighed through her nose and peered at the LED screen. The composition of the photo was was all wrong, she knew, but she didn’t have any idea how to fix it. And in about 30 seconds, the butter was going to turn opaque and waxen and look completely inedible anyway.

What a waste of a morning, she groaned to herself.

Bryce’s voice was sudden and grating at her shoulder. “What is that supposed to be? Some kind of scrambled eggs?” he smirked. His voice felt like nails on a chalkboard.

“Shut it. I’m trying to concentrate.”

He leaned closer, his chin just over her arm.

“What do those buttons do?”

She sighed irritably and said nothing, jerking her shoulder back to dislodge him. What do the buttons do? she thought. Hell if I know, honestly.

“What? I’m just looking,” he said innocently.

“Bryce, seriously... back off,” she hissed, waving her hand over her shoulder and hoping she could smack him in the face by mistake.

Click. She took a shot then squinted at the result. The image on screen was passably attractive. She could imagine it on Pinterest or a foodie site of some sort. But on closer inspection, somehow all the bits of red pepper seemed to have lined up. They looked like a treasure map to nowhere or the blank spots on a game of Hangman. She reached out and spun the plate a quarter turn and click, took another.

“How are people supposed to know if that’s good food if they can’t tell what it is?”

“It’s a fucking omelet, Bryce. How do you not know what it is?”

She stood up, frustrated and ready to lash out but when she turned, he had that goofy golden retriever look on his face like when they were kids. He bounced on his toes from side to side and smiled apologetically. Something was up, but she was too busy to ask.

“Naw, go on, sis,” he pleaded, shrugging toward the counter. “I was just playing with you.”

Callie glared at him, her mood stubbornly refusing to brighten even as he grinned and danced from foot to foot.

“Don’t stop,” he continued, whining. “Do your thing. It looks good, honest!”

“Whatever,” she grumbled and flipped through the last three shots on the camera. They would have to do, she knew, at least until she could figure out what she was doing wrong. She gave the plate an irritable poke with her finger.

“It looks good,” he mumbled again behind her.

“Fine,” she sighed, giving up. “You eat it.”

“Sweet!” he exclaimed and went to the far side of the kitchen counter, dragging the plate with him as he pulled out a bar stool.

“Jesus... Use a fork, Bryce!” she complained, getting a utensil close to his hand just in time.

He ate with gusto, shoveling palm-sized portions into his mouth with barely a breath in between. Callie stared at him with an expression of mild disgust. He still ate like a barn animal, which is exactly what their mom had said when they were little. You eat like a barn animal!

I guess some things never change, Callie thought wryly.

“This is good, whatever it is,” he slurred between swallows.