Page 67 of Caught Up

“Sorry,” I told the ladies around me. “I need to answer this.”

Nonna’s sharp gaze landed on me as I stood, and I turned before she could read too much into my expression.

“Where are you?” I asked by way of answering.

“Here,” Junior said, his voice low. “Come find me.”

And then he hung up on me. Again.

I curled my hand around the phone and pulled it away from my ear, and the only thing that kept me from turning it into an overpriced frisbee was the crowd of onlookers. The man had the audacity to make me wait an hour and a half for him, and then tellmeto put in all the effort to meet up? Oh, hell no. I was going to do so much worse to him than fill his inbox with spam.

Taking a deep breath, I strode from the reception room into the hallway where I’d first run into him. He wasn’t there. I peeked into the ladies’ room just in case he’d gonefull-blowncreeper, but there was no sign of him inside. Stepping back out, I glanced toward the men’s room. Nope. Not even the temptation of regaining my phone was strong enough to lure me in there. With my luck, I’d catch sight of some old man’s saggy skin biscuits and need to have my eyeballs removed.

I left the hall and swept through the connecting door into the nave. It looked empty.

“This isn’t funny,” I said, stalking toward the front entrance, checking between each row of pews as I went, hoping that Junior wasn’t about to jump out at me like afucked-upjack-in-the-box.

I was passing the confessionals when one of the doors popped open and I got yanked inside, a hand covering my mouth before I could scream. There was just enough light to see Junior’s face as he pulled the door shut again.

“Let me go!” I said, the words muffled.

He chuckled, the sound diabolical in the closed space.

I tried to stomp on his foot, but my heel clanged off somethingrock-hardand I almost twisted my ankle. Was he wearingsteel-toedboots?

He wrapped an arm around my waist and dragged my back against his chest, his mouth pressed to the side of my head. “Did you miss me?”

“No,” I said, but his palm muffled it. I slammed my hands onto his forearm, trying to push him off, but it was like a steel vise around my middle.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper,” he said.

I tried to yank free, starting to panic a little. I could feel the heat rolling off his body, smell his heady cologne. The dark of the confessional was too close to our shadowy corner in the voyeur room, and my mind was already starting to torment me with memories of what we’d done there last night.

“And I’m sorry for how my questions came off,” he said, easily restraining me. “I think what you do is valid work, and I wasn’t trying to imply otherwise. I would never,evertry to trap you, Lauren. If you believe nothing else I’ve said, believe that.”

My pulse thundered in my ears as his words sank in. Goddamn it. He sounded sincere. And if anyone understood what it felt like to be trapped, it was Junior. The hunted look in his eyes last night when he told me about his father’s plans for him had made that crystal clear.

“I’mnotsorry for putting down that drunk guy, though,” he growled. “If I hadn’t stepped in, he might have hurt someone else or tried to assault one of the women.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sorry he’d done it either, but there was no way to tell him that with his hand clamped over my mouth.

I was just gearing up to bite him so we could have a normal adult conversation when he slowly pulled his hand away.

“I’m sorry, too,” I said, and I meant it. I didn’t like losing my temper, didn’t like snapping at people, no matterhowthey treated me.

He tightened his hold on my waist. “Don’t be sorry. No one could blame you for being sensitive about your work, especially not me. I know how much it means to you.”

Oof. How was I supposed to resist him when he said things like that? Oh, right, theotherthing I’d learned last night.

“How long have you been stalking me?” I asked.

He tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I found the tracker you put in my purse,” I said. “And I need you to explainexactlywhat you meant when you said you’ve been protecting me for the past ten years.”

His forehead hit my shoulder. “I will. I promise. Just...not here.”

“But soon,” I said. “You’ll tell me everything.”

---