He chuckles deeply. It’s a wonderful sound.
“Fine,” he says. “Iceman and Firecracker it is.”
“We sound like a comedy duo.”
“Or a band,” he says. “But I should warn you. I can’t sing.”
“Try,” I laugh, the moment sweeping me up in its embrace. We’ve somehow ended up standing very close, so close I could reach up and touch his handsome face if I wanted to. If I was brave enough to. “Just a few lines.”
“Dallas Smith,” he says. “There is no world in which I sing.”
“Fine,” I sass. “Then Poppet and I will sing. Come here, girl.”
She leaps up and I cradle her in my arms, heavier than she used to be, but still feeling like my little baby as I cuddle her close. Then I throw my head back and let out a soft howl, and then another, and by the third, I realize what I’m doing, and embarrassment thuds through me.
“She usually howls with me,” I explain, cheeks glowing red.
“Well, let me try,” he says.
“You’re joking.”
“Give her here and see if I’m joking.”
“Okay, but be careful. She can get a bit flighty.”
“Come here, girl,” he says, voice soothing as he takes her from me.
His hand brushes against mine and electricity surges down through my body. He cradles her close and tips his head back, ready to let out a howl. He’s so muscular that even his neck has tendons of it, making him look solid, immovable. Poppet looks comfortable and right at home.
I can’t stop myself from giggling, the sight is so unexpected, so unusual.
He’s just taking an interest in his best friend’s daughter, nothing more. He’s just making you feel welcome.
But what if it is more?
What if—
But before Dom or Poppet can howl, an animal noise of pain comes from inside.
We turn and stare into Dad’s apartment, at the crowd gathered around a figure on the floor, his foot twitching.
Somebody screams.
Poppet whines worriedly.
Chapter Seven
Domenico
I have to struggle to push away the moment Dallas and I just shared. I haven’t let myself go like that in years, decades even. I haven’t sunk so easily into the back-and-forth with a woman for the simple reason that I’ve never wanted to, never even come close to wanting to.
But when Dallas started bantering with me, I felt an answering call inside of me.
And learning about her, about her hopes and dreams and talent, that was just as sweet.
When she tipped her head back and howled, though, that endearing howl moved something inside of me, I had to batter down the urge to leap at her and take her neck in my mouth. I’d kiss and bite as she stood there, at my mercy, looking fine-as-hell in her sparkly blue dress that pushes out her breasts gorgeously. A dignified slice of leg on display, her thighs thick, round, made to be grabbed and played with and owned.
But now I have to force all of that away as I walk back into Gabriel’s penthouse and toward the crowd gathered in the middle of the room.
“What is it?” I say, keeping my voice cold despite the anxiety thrumming through me.
I push through the crowd, my men and their wives knowing to drift aside as I move closer to the man on the floor.
I stare down at him, rage gripping me and the desire to bash more than a few heads together coming over me.
One of the younger men, Nathan, is lying on his back with a stupid drunken expression on his face. As I watch, he blinks and sits up, looking around in surprise at all the people crowded around him. I glance at the woman who screamed, a thin woman in a thinner dress, his wife, his girl, whatever, screaming melodramatically because he slipped on an hors d'oeuvre.
“Wha—goin’—on?” he slurs drunkenly.
“Stupid motherfucker,” Gabriel snaps, leaning down and grabbing him by his shirtfront. “The fuck’s the matter with you? You got half the place thinking you’ve been shot or poisoned, you dumb prick.”
I see anger rise in Nathan’s young face. He looks like he might snap at this man rudely accosting him, but then his eyes come into some sort of focus and he sees that it’s Gabriel Smith.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Fuck, sorry.”
He looks up at me and his lips begin to tremble. I know his name, but we’ve never spoken. I’ve never had a need to.
“Boss, please, forgive me.”
I sigh grimly. “Go home and sober up,” I tell him. “And don’t cause such a scene next time.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry.”
I watch as he stumbles toward the exit, leaning on the arm of his plus-one. Julio is standing in the corner, hands crossed over his middle, and when I nod at him he silently glides from the room after Nathan. He’ll drive him home and make sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble. I wish more of my men were like Julio.
“Fucking idiot,” Gabriel grumbles, walking over to me as the crowd disperses and the festivities recommence. “All that fuss over a goddamn prawn or whatever the fuck it was. Shows you how tense people are, though, don’t it?”
“We’re at war,” I say. “They’re right to be tense.”
We drift over to the corner of the room, sitting down and letting our men and their women fill the room around us. I catch sight of Dallas moving across the room, one hand on the back of Poppet’s head. The way she’s leaning down to touch her dog causes the hem of her dress to lift slightly, giving me a glance at more of her thigh, that luscious thigh I could spend hours exploring, licking, biting.
I keep my face composed. This is wrong. Gabriel is sitting right fucking here.
“Skip,” he says, keeping his voice quiet so the other men don’t hear him use his childhood nickname for me.
“Yes?”
“Am I going crazy, or did I see you holding Dallas’s dog out there? And I could swear I saw her howling.”
I feel like a traitor, like a fucking
