Rita
“Orin, this is my new wife, Rita Hunters. Rita, darling, say hello.”
What the hell?
Did he just say new wife? As in, I’m his wife, and we’re married?
Like, husband, wife, loving relationship, sharing a marital bed, all that stuff?
My brain’s slow to process. I’m still in panic mode because of the fire back at my apartment, but now my fight-or-flight response is also severely triggered by the four massive thugs with the guns they’re clearly itching to point at my face.
Now I understand why Scar wanted me to stay behind.
These guys are monsters.
No, it’s worse than that. I overheard a little of what they were saying as I came into the room.
These guys are drug dealers. They’re organized crime. They’re probably freaking mafia.
I knew Scar had some shady clients. Most lawyers do, especially at a certain level. But I had no clue he was actively courting criminals.
Everyone’s staring at me. The older man sitting in the center narrows his gaze like he’s looking for a weakness. Like he’s probing me for cracks.
I don’t know what to say. Language vacates my brain. For once in my life, I’m left totally speechless, and everyone’s waiting for me to say something, anything at all.
Four young men. All of them big, all of them dangerous. And one older gentleman, the aforementioned Orin, still looking at me with pure skepticism.
My eyes drift to meet his gaze.
It’s ice cold. There’s nothing in those eyes, no emotion, no craving, only a frozen calculation.
And looking in those eyes, I realize something.
My future depends on what I say next.
This isn’t a game. It’s not like Scar is playing a funny trick at a party. He’s not introducing me as his wife to be a tease, or to piss me off, or to be funny, or for any other reason than to keep us both alive.
Because this Orin guy is the most frightening one of the bunch.
He’s weighing me and judging me. I can practically see the gears spinning. He’s wondering if he can kill me now, or if he has to wait until later to finish me off.
I put on my best smile. I reach out and place my hand comfortably on Scar’s shoulder. I summon the image of his hand brushing against my breasts back in the car. I try to hold on to the excitement I felt in that moment.
Scar stiffens, only briefly, but puts his own large palm over mine, the image of the loving, doting husband. I tilt my head toward him, every inch of my body screaming at me to run the hell away from this room, and give Orin my best smile.
“It’s really lovely to meet you,” I say, laughing awkwardly. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, I know this is a private meeting. There’s just a little family emergency.”
“Hunters,” Orin says, like he didn’t hear the part about the emergency. “You’re Irish?”
Scar’s hand squeezes mine. That unmistakably means fuck, yes, you are.
Fortunately, I don’t have to lie about this one. “Yes, I am. My parents are both second-generation.”
“Good for you,” Orin says, nodding to himself, and the smile he gives Scar is sharper than a fresh kitchen knife. “Picked yourself a pretty Irish girl. Good for you.”
“She just fell into my lap,” he says.
Orin waves a hand. “Sit down, boys,” he snaps.
And slowly, the four thugs take their seats. I can see the family resemblance once my brain starts working again. They’re obviously all brothers, or at least cousins, and Orin is their father or grandfather, it’s hard to say.
“Really, I’m so sorry for intruding,” I say as if nobody pointed a gun at me and I’m just some ditzy woman. “If it weren’t important-”
“When did you get married?” Orin interrupts, staring at Scar. “I didn’t know you took a wife.”
“It was recent,” he says smoothly. “Whirlwind relationship. Eloped out to Vegas.”
“Does Eros know?”
Scar shakes his head. “Couldn’t tell him. You think Eros would take missing my wedding very well? He’ll meet Rita soon though. I was hiding her away, but I couldn’t bring myself to travel without her. I’m hoping once my friends meet her and realize she’s a delight, they’ll forgive me for keeping this relationship a secret.”
God, that man lies smoother than silk. It’s almost amazing. I guess now I know why he’s such a good lawyer.
Orin lets out a sharp laugh. “That’s cute. You’ll get over the honeymoon phase soon enough, however. But a wife has her uses. Children, in particular.” He sits back, studying Scar. My stomach’s a twisted mess and all I want to do is get out of here. And did that asshole just say I’m only good for making babies? But whatever, he can be a sexist pig so long as he doesn’t murder me. “Poor Rita said there was an emergency.” His eyebrows raise. “Do you want to handle that?”
Scar’s hand tightens on mine. This time, I have no clue what it means. Except that he’s exceedingly pissed. “No, I think my wife can take care of whatever problem came up. Right, babe?”
“Uh, actually-” He’s squeezing hard enough to break fingers, but I remember my freaking apartment is currently turning to ashes. Time to power through the pain. “There’s been a fire.”
Orin looks surprised. Scar halfway turns to look at me.
“Fire?” Scar asks.
“My-uh, our neighbor called. It’s the apartment.” I stare into Scar’s deep green-and-gold eyes. His handsome, exceedingly angry eyes. I will him to understand. This is not part of the act. “It’s really bad. I need to get on the next plane to Texas.”
Scar doesn’t look away. He stares at me, expression tense. I’m basically begging him with my eyes: this is real, this isn’t fake, this isn’t part of whatever crazy game he’s playing.
My life is really burning to the ground as we speak.
“Sounds serious,” Orin puts in.
“Would you gentlemen excuse me?” Scar says smoothly. “I need to speak with my wife in the hall for a moment.”
“By all means.” Orin gestures expansively. “I have a cousin who died in a house fire. Rotten old drunk, too wasted to smell the smoke. Died in his basement.” Orin laughs, an ugly sound. “Go ahead, get it sorted. We’ll wait.” He puffs his cigar. “Our time isn’t that valuable.”
Scar is standing in a flash, one hand around my waist protectively. He steers me to the door and, before we step outside, he turns me back toward him. The look in his eye is pure rage, but his mouth comes closer, too fast to stop, and I don’t have time to move before he kisses me.
I blink in total shock.
Lips. Tongue. Soft and warm. Delicious, tense.
His mouth touches mine, his lips surprisingly soft and wet. His taste floods my mouth, aggressive and intense, mint mixed with cigar smoke and whiskey.
I kiss him back, shocked by my body’s sudden reaction, like a lightning bolt rips me down the middle.
He holds that kiss a beat longer than appropriate, almost as if he’s as surprised as I am by how good it feels. Like a first kiss is supposed to feel. A rush, an excitement. A dam breaking, leading to something bigger. A hint of more to come.
Then he pulls back, his expression softer, almost confused, like he can’t believe what just happened.
“Be back in a moment,” he says before he drags me back out into the hall.
My heart’s racing from his touch. From that kiss.
Holy crap, that kiss.
Clearly fake, done for the benefit of the mobsters in there, but wow.
My cheeks are on fire, and my core’s clenching and tingling. I didn’t know I could react this way from one modest kiss, but it’s like Scar’s touch woke something up deep inside my chest.
I knew he was handsome, but apparently, he’s also a fantastic kisser too.
Once the door’s shut, he all but slams me against the wall, his mouth inches from my ear. “What the fuck was that?” he whispers sharply. “Are you insane? Didn’t you hear what I said? Stay put. Don’t move. You had one fucking job-”
“My apartment’s really on fire,” I say in a rush, brain melting at the sudden proximity. What is with this guy and throwing me around today? Not that it’s so bad, but still, he’s getting a little too comfortable. “Also, your hands are on my hips. And you kissed me.”
He blinks once, looks down, and realizes his fingers are digging into my body. He pulls back as if I’m made of hot coals.
For a moment, there’s silence. He looks at me. I stare back. I want to feel that mouth again, but no, I don’t want that, I don’t want him at all. I’m only confused and on edge because of the fire. That kiss was bizarre, that whole thing was totally insane. My heart’s racing, my head’s pounding.
Despite the profoundly weird shit that just happened in that private room, I need to get home.
I can deal with that stuff later.
Because if I don’t get home, I may have nothing left.
No money, no prospects, and if I lose everything else because of this fire-
I don’t know where I’ll be.
I can’t afford to replace my wardrobe. My laptop. My memories.
“Please, Scar,” I say softly. “I need to go home right now. There’s a flight-”
He reaches into his pocket, takes out his wallet, and flips a black credit card into my hands. “Take it. Go home.”
I blink at the card. “Seriously?”
“Buy whatever you need. I’ll try to salvage the mess in there and meet you back in Texas tomorrow.”
“Scar, I can’t just-”
“Go, Rita,” he says, sounding pissed. He steps back from me with visible effort. “Good luck.”
“Uh, you too.”
He turns away and disappears back into the room.
Leaving me alone with a heavy black credit card cradled in both hands, the ghost of his touch on my body, and the memory of his words ringing in my ear. My new wife, Rita Hunters.