Page 23 of Mafia and Gold Digger

“You never told me that you weren’t a cop.”

“You never asked.” The silence beats between us. “And I thought I’d get more information out of you that way.”

“More information out of me?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “You know, like getting to know you.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You couldn’t just make small talk like a normal person?”

He shrugs. “I don’t do small talk.”

I open my mouth but then close it. He thinks it’s okay to scare someone like that because he wants to get to know them but wants to get out of making small talk?Jesus. “If you weren’t a cop, why on earth did you have me locked in the back of your car?”

“I had the child locks on.”

My jaw drops. “Child locks?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? The thought of a woman locked in the back of my car and at my mercy does something to me.”

I laser him with a glittering glare.

“Look, I never said I was a cop.”

“But youknewI thought you were one. I thought I was under arrest or something. It’s called lying by omission.”

“I didn’t read you your Miranda rights.”

“Yeah, well, when someone’s terrified like that, it makes it hard to think straight,” I mutter, annoyed with myself that I never thought of that. I shake my head. “I assume you’re standing here because you want something to drink? So, what can I get you?”

“Whiskey. Neat.” He slides some bills across the bar.

My head bobs, and I move to grab the glass and bottle, pouring it like I’ve done a hundred times before. I decide to change the subject as I slide his drink across to him with a smile. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“I told you, you can call me Saint.”

I exhale a soft sigh. How can one man be so infuriating yet magnetic at the same time? “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Meeting Christian.” He’s gazing intently at the vase of red roses in front of him.

I turn around to stack some clean glasses on the counter.

And by the time I turn back, I find he’s ripped the petals off half the roses, leaving them scattered on the bar top.

I’m distracted by the look that passes over his face, but only for a split second. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He looks up. “Sorry… I just hate red roses.”

My eyes widen. “Let me guess, you’re the sort of person who also hates children, animals, rainbows, and unicorns.”

“And I bet you’re the sort of person who loves those things,” he retorts as he looks at me carefully.

I shrug and can’t help a wide smile. “Sure, stuff like that makes me happy. I mean, rainbows are beautiful, unicorns are magical, and kids and animals are cute, so what’s not to like?” I know I probably sound like an idiot, but with the mess my life is in, I like to take pleasure from the small things.

He continues to look at me like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. And then his eyes trail down my face to my lips, his intent gaze making a strange sensation prickle over my skin.

I start to tidy up the petals before the supervisor complains about the mess. A couple of petals flutter to the floor on his side of the bar, so I walk around to retrieve them.

Crouching down next to his bar chair, I see his wallet peeking out from the inside breast pocket of his jacket which he’s slung over the back of his chair.

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