Page 58 of Diamond In The Rough

“The food is poisoned?”

He snorts, stepping across my threshold and letting himself in. He doesn’t turn to close the door at his back, but instead, kicks it so the heavy wood slams and rattles the frame. “I don’t poison perfectly good food. That’s just weird.”

He continues through to my kitchen and sets his things on the counter. “I’ll even eat with you, to prove it’s safe.” Once his hands are free, he wipes them on his pants and scans the shelves set high on the wall. “Plates?”

“Um…” Do something, dummy! Shoot him! Stab him! Scream for help! “Top cabinet on the left. Silverware is in the drawer by your hip.”

“Excellent.” He takes down two plates, and digs out two forks from the drawer. “Do you have food allergies?”

“No…” Cautious, I step to the right. Then I do it again, maintaining distance between me and the man who carries himself like he knows he can’t be hurt.

He doesn’t wear weapons outside his clothes, easily viewable by a casual observer. But I know he wears a blade by his ankle. Carries another in his pocket. I know he’s skilled with guns.

And with his hands…

I study those as he peels open the pasta container and releases a heavy puff of steam. “H-how did you get my address?”

“I asked a guy I know to find it for me.” He empties half of the container onto one plate, creamy white sauce sprinkling the counter when the long fettucine noodles flop free and land on the ceramic flatware. “Took him about twenty-three seconds.” He moves to the next plate and hovers the container over it. “Twenty-three seconds isn’t a lot of security, Ms. Hale. You need better.”

“Maybe I’m protected by my association with Mr. Wilkes.” Stupid, stupid, stupid un-funny woman! “Surely, since he and I are in cahoots, I’m safe?”

Micah studies me for a beat, his stare, serious and fiery. But then he grins and finishes heaping pasta on the second plate. “No. Have you eaten dinner yet?” He brings his hand up and licks sauce from the side of his thumb.

And damn him for making it look… well, sexual.

“It’s still pretty early,” he reasons. “So I was hoping to get in before you’d made other plans.”

“I ordered takeout.” I look to my closed door, desperately wishing for the earnest Mr. Chan to knock. “It hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Well… it has.” He sets a fork on the side of one plate and pushes the whole setting to the opposite side of the counter. “This is your dinner now. And I’m starving.”

“Micah—”

“I want to apologize.” He doesn’t eat right away, though he says he’s hungry. And he doesn’t shove the food down my throat, though I’m sure he’s willing to use physical force to make people do as he says. His reputation precedes him, whether he likes it or not. “You were just a woman who happened to be outside my club one night. You did nothing wrong, and I treated you badly anyway.”

“Mmhm. That makes you an asshole.” I drag out a stool, the legs scraping my floor. Then, coming around, I perch on the very edge. In case I have to run away. “You attacked me for no reason except your own issues.”

“Yes.” He flips up the lid on the pizza box and peruses the contents. “I did that. I’m sorry.”

“You held a knife to my throat.” I examine my dinner, my stomach yearning for what must surely be a delicious meal. But my nerves make it impossible to eat. “That’s not just a standard douchey red flag, Malone. That’s a convict waving his boxer shorts through the bars of his cell in a super max penitentiary. There’s no one on this planet who could examine your behavior and tell me you’re a normal, decent guy.”

“Guess it’s good I don’t rely on the opinions of others, then.” He selects a slice of pizza and folds it in half. “I might get my feelings hurt if I cared what others thought of me.”

“But you do care.” Risking my life, I pick up my fork and stab a chunk of chicken. I’m hungry, and it’s the kind of hunger that comes with a dip in blood sugar that almost makes my hands shake. “You care what I think. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t apologize.”

“Maybe I care about karma.” He takes a bite and sighs happily. Carbs and peppers and oil make this man content. “What I did was wrong. So to re-balance those scales, I had to tell you I was sorry.”

“If you cared about karma, you probably wouldn’t be in the line of work you’re in.”

Shut. Up!

Instantly, I bring my gaze up from my dinner and stop on his. “Er, I mean…”

“It’s okay.” Grinning, he swallows his mouthful and studies his slice for where he’ll bite next. “We’re both grown-ups, Tiia. We don’t have to say it, but we both know it.”

“That you’re the mafia?”

Oh my god. Do I even want to live to see my next birthday?

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