Riding Dirty: Luciotti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) - Kara Hart Page 0,26
my knees.
He came rushing to my aid, once again. “I didn't mean like that!” He pulled out the inhaler and gave it to me again. “Here, just keep it,” he said.
I sat in his arms, feeling a little sick from the drag of tobacco but playing it up more than I needed to. “Do you have asthma too?” I asked him.
Even though it was a pretty common thing to have, I hated my condition. It had always held me back somewhat. But normally I had my trusty inhaler. Luckily, he had saved me this time.
“It's minor and mostly stress related,” he said.
“Stress? You? But you're always so smug.” I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, making sure my asthma didn't get the best of me. Fuck. Maybe I was a grandma.
“You haven't met my family,” he said. I sat against his chest, catching my breath. I suddenly felt his fingers move from my back, up to my neck. He squeezed gently, kneading at the pressure points in my neck, shooting waves of relief throughout my body.
Oddly enough, I didn't protest. “What are they like?” I found myself asking. He moved to my shoulders, rolling his knuckles over the knots. He pressed down harder now. With his other hand, he threaded his finger through my hair. A pulse of electricity shot through me, and my hair raised with a short-lasting burst of pleasure.
“For one, they’re Detroit-made Italians. Two, my brother is a certified psychopath,” he said, now using both of his hands to massage me. We were still in the middle of the road, but it was early enough that no cars would be driving past us for at least an hour. Every adult in town was at work right now and not many kids took summer school like Jen. If anyone did see us, it would be quite a scene to witness.
“That's not very nice,” I said. “I'm sure your brother means well.”
He shook his head and stopped massaging me. No! Don't stop. I secretly pleaded inside of my head. “When I left him last, he was face down in the gravel, cursing my name. Meanwhile, the prostitute he hired to come to family dinner just stood there staring at him. If he could kill me without any repercussions, I think he would do it. Trust me on this, he doesn't mean well.”
“Sounds like you guys need to see a therapist,” I laughed.
“Ha, I can only imagine what that session would be like.” He picked me up and set me on my feet. “There you are, my lady.” He bowed. Carmelo pulled into the alleyway and got out.
“There's my boss, Carmelo,” I said.
Without saying a word to either of us, he shakily unlocked the door and turned on the lights. “Mind if I sit inside while you open up? I promise I'll tip you guys big,” Lucas asked. It was weird how okay I was beginning to feel with him being around me. I shook off the feeling as Carmelo gave me an angry look.
“No customers before eight,” he said, walking inside.
I shrugged at Lucas. “Rules are rules. Sorry.”
But Lucas was persistent. He leaned in the door and yelled out “What's wrong, Carmelo? You won't even notice I'm there.”
“Rules are rules,” he said simply, tapping the store hours. Something had been going on with him. Either he was sick or there was something bigger he wasn't telling me. He looked pale, almost like he had been startled.
Lucas looked to me for backup. “Sorry,” I said, “you heard the man.”
“Alright, I get the picture. I'm too much man for both of you. Well, I'll be seeing you,” he said, tipping a non-existent hat. “My lady.”
“Quit it,” I mumbled. Before he could leave I called out to him “Lucas! Thanks for helping me and my daughter out back there. It was, uh, nice of you.”
“I'm kind of a nice guy,” he said, pulling out a cigarette. “I really shouldn’t be smoking though. Maybe I need a woman in my life to set me straight, huh?” He laughed and tapped the cigarette on his palm.
“Goodbye,” I said, shutting the door.
It was weird. I felt excited with only a tinge of nausea. Was I really smiling at all his stupid jokes now? God, I had to be more careful. Still, I couldn't stop staring at him as he walked down the road. Those broad shoulders made my mouth water. Not good!
Carmelo was in the back kitchen, beating the floor with a broomstick.