Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (44 page)

Pursing my lips, I swapped places on the two on the end of the line, then put them back how I had them. Then I moved the third one next to the fifth one… Then just decided to hang them on the wall. Setting them all to the side, I took the older paintings from their nails and brought them to the opposite side of the room, stacking them to face the wall. If I didn’t have to see them again, ever, that was going to be fine with me. I felt like they had all betrayed me somehow.

I tinkered with the arrangement until I was more or less satisfied and got them all hung. Then I stood back and sat on my stool, knuckling my chin, trying to imagine what Bridget was going to say.

Voices in the hallway caught my attention and I perked up just as Declan was opening the door. He walked in with a very tall, very gorgeous woman with hair the color of corn silk.

“Ahhh,” she cooed with an accent, somehow, and immediately walked in and started gandering way too damn close to my new paintings. I saw Declan cut his eyes toward me and carefully controlled my expression.

“Oh my gaaaasshhhhh,” she murmured in an utterly phony and exaggerated accent, swishing her ass cheeks from side to side underneath her absurdly short skirt.

Declan was infuriatingly amused. His eyes danced.

“Margot, this is Anneka Torsson. She runs our tech interests in the Netherlands. Anneka, this is Margot Trask.”

She spun around on her storky legs and stuck her hand out. Plastering a smile on my face, I shook her stupid hand and then crossed my arms.

“These are beautiful,” she purred. That made me like her a little better but I could see Declan’s expression and I did not like it one little bit.

“Thank you so much,” I said evenly.

“Margot’s been working practically around the clock for weeks,” Declan said.

“You know who would love these?” Anneka asked Declan. “Peter.”

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, getting closer to the wall. “Peter would go nuts for these.”

They stood side by side in identical postures, looking at my new stuff like they’d been invited.

“You know I don’t really open my studio to guests,” I finally blurted out.

Declan turned around and quirked an eyebrow at me.

“You don’t? Since when?”

“Since never,” I lied.

Anneka looked at Declan in over-acted dismay.

“Artists,” he shrugged by way of explanation and reached out to take her elbow. “Let’s get you a cocktail OK?”

“Yes, thank you,” she simpered. “Margot, thank you so much for letting me peek!”

She gave me a gracious smile and glided out of the room while I shriveled, rooted to the spot. After about a minute of silent pep talks to my pride, I followed them out to the living room.

“What is that sound?” I heard her asking Declan.

“I got it!” I called out loudly, and diverted my path to the front door.

Kevin held out a bouquet of ranunculus and violets when I opened the door. I took it and held it to my nose, grinning at his thoughtfulness.

“Oh, is this a fancy dinner?” he asked. “I should have dressed up, huh.”

“Uh, no you’re fine,” I said, glancing at his khakis and the logo from his real estate company on his polo shirt. “Come on in. I have someone I want you to meet.”

He stepped awkwardly forward and I gave him my cheek to kiss but nothing else.

“We’re in the living room,” I said, leading the way.

“OK, this is fancy,” he muttered as the kitchen staff came into view. “Why didn’t you say?”

“Oh, they’re just here for the night,” I said, waving my hand. “Anneka? This is Kevin Kemper. Declan Burke? Kevin Kemper.”

Anneka and Kevin shook hands cordially while Declan squinted suspiciously at me. Then he pivoted and shook Kevin’s hand.

“Hey, Jackson?” he called out over his shoulder. “Come and meet Margot’s friend.”

Jackson came in through the sliding screen door from the pool and crossed the living room. His eyebrows knit together briefly but then smoothed and he glanced at me with an expression of mild surprise. I curdled a tiny bit.

Woops.
I hadn’t really considered his feelings. Actually I hadn’t really considered that he
had
 feelings.

“Jackson Burke,” he said, shaking Kevin’s hand and smiling handsomely. “You in real estate?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Oh, this and that,” Jackson averred, crinkling his face into a humble smile. “Are you listing the house, Margot?”

“No, Margot and I are old friends,” Kevin answered. “I’m actually based out of San Francisco now.”

“Ah, San Francisco,” Jackson said, looking at me meaningfully. But the expression was gone in a flash. “Let’s get you a drink, Kev. What will you have?”

Ohhhh shit,
 I groaned inwardly, realizing Jackson had put it all together just like that: Kevin the ex-boyfriend, who I had gone to see in San Francisco, the night before I met the Burkes while wearing my trashy day-after outfit, and now I had invited him to dinner.
God, you’re a jerk sometimes, Margot.

“Where did you come from!” I said with over-acted surprise as Bridget hobbled into the living room on red stilettos, clutching two bottles of wine. As per her usual, she had just let herself in. She paused for a moment and leaned back from the four of us, taking in the scene. Finally Kevin walked over to her and held out his hands.

“Malbec,” she drawled and stared at him like he smelled awful. Kevin took the wine with a perplexed expression and stalked back to the wet bar.

“Honey baby!” she cooed at me, throwing out her arms and leaning over in an air hug. “Oh look, we’re both wearing blue.”

“We sure are,” I agreed, checking out her skin tight Chinese silk dress. She may have been poured into it. “You can sit in that?” I whispered.

“I’ll just unzip it,” she explained.

“Huh.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered dramatically, staring at the gathering at the wet bar. I stood in front of her to block her access.

“Seriously, Bridge. I can have you killed.”

“Oh, you say that all the time.”

I watched her eyes but didn’t turn around, preferring to see my men through the expressions that flitted across her overly made up face. Her eyebrows arched as far as the Botox would let them but only at the outside corners, and her mouth formed a perfect red O of amazement. A flush started at her collarbones and marched straight up over her cheeks, gleaming pinkly.

“Please fix your face,” I hissed at her.

She blinked. Twice. Then she looked at me. Her kohl-black eyes shone brightly. Were those actual tears?

“Sweetheart, I am so filled with love for you right now, I just don’t even know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything. Seriously, Bridge. Be good.”

Who me?
 she mouthed dramatically. I glared at her and pantomimed some kind of cruel punishment. It may or may not have made any sense, but I was under the gun.

I turned around to see what she saw. Declan and Jackson were standing casually with Kevin chatting like a trio of magazine models. Jackson wore a tight, black t-shirt that clung to his biceps, and Declan wore a raw silk jersey with the buttons half undone. Kevin had on his customary logo polo, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that.

All three looked at me at once, and a thrill whipped through my chest like a thunderclap. Jackson winked one bright blue eye. Declan started walking toward us.

“Declan,” she purred as she held out her hand, taking tiny, wobbly steps toward the bar.

“Wonderful to see you again,” he said suavely, picking up her hand and kissing the knuckles. She giggled and I tried not to roll my eyes. “You remember Jackson of course…”

“Of course.”

“And I’d like to introduce you to Anneka Torsson.”

“How do you do?” Anneka said graciously.

“How do you do?” Bridget said politely, then turned her head to me and blinked her eyes in a cartoonish expression that said perfectly:
Zoiks. Get a load of her!

I loved her for that.

One of the white-coated chefs appeared at Bridget’s elbow and asked if we would like to start salads now, so we all meandered over to the table. Bridget staggered dangerously behind me and held her hands out stiffly from her thighs for balance. She took her seat at the head of the table and grinned delightedly while we all stared at the remaining chairs and each other, momentarily perplexed.

Jackson stepped forward and pulled out the chair next to Bridget for me and I sat, grateful he had taken the initiative. When his hip brushed mine, he nudged me just slightly. The silk slipped across my lace thong and ripples of pleasure flickered through my body. He slid in next to me as Declan led Anneka to the far side of the table, then sat across from me. Kevin scowled for a moment before taking the seat at the other end from Bridget.

“What we have here is a sweet pea tendril salad,” Mike explained as the plates were set before us, “with heirloom pear tomatoes and dungeness crab.”

“I think this is what we had last time,” Bridget said, wrinkling her nose. “Oh wait, my mistake. Last time we had burritos from that place at the bottom of the hill.”

“I could see how you’d mix that up,” I nodded.

Bridget sighed and plucked a small tomato from the bowl, popping it in her mouth. I watched her chew out of the corner of my eye as I placed my napkin in my lap. Choking to death would be exactly the sort of drama she would think up. Everybody else underestimates just how diabolical she is really willing to be. Not me.

“Oh, hey,” Declan said to Anneka, “I think your drink is still at the bar.”

He stood and walked behind Bridget to cross the living room. I watched Bridget inspecting his ass muscles clenching in his dark-washed jeans.

“Even his feet are sexy!” she whimpered.

“So what kind of crab is ‘dungeness,’ anybody know?” I yelled out over her, and lifted my fork with a rigid smile.

As the dinner progressed, my nervousness dissipated. Declan began talking to Bridget about some sculpture he’d bought from her years ago, and Anneka began telling Kevin about Holland’s extensive dam history. Jackson kept one knee against mine under the table, and every so often he stroked the inside of my calf.

This was nice. It was urbane. And it felt sort of delicious to have such a naughty secret under my dress.

“This is really nice,” Jackson said affably.

I nodded. “I was just thinking that.”

Mike came in with the dinner course held grandly in front of him. “Lamb with a sweet cherry reduction and potatoes Anna,” he intoned smoothly.

As the dishes were set before each person, everyone congratulated him on a beautiful plate. The peppery, deeply savory aroma wafted into my face and was almost satisfying by itself. I’d never smelled anything so good.

Even Bridget shoveled it down with gusto. Usually she expressed her disdain for my cooking by pinching off tiny pieces of bread all night while her dinner cooled on her plate like a museum specimen. But tonight she had even eaten the curling pea shoots without a complaint. I felt like I’d won something. Watching her flirting coquettishly with Declan, rolling her eyes like a silent movie star, I could see she had worked up a stellar appetite.

“Oh, poo,” she whined. “The malbec is gone.”

“I think Mike paired a syrah for the dinner course,” Declan suggested gently.

“But… Malbec,” she said as though his words made no sense.

“I have more in the cellar,” I replied automatically. I didn’t want anything to spoil her evening.

Jackson immediately stood as well. “Let me help carry,” he offered.

“You’re a peach,” I smiled. “Back in a jiff!”

Jackson followed me to the kitchen and I walked as modestly sexy as I could, feeling his eyes on my thighs. We avoided Mike’s pointed glare about daring to bring wine to the table and I led Jackson around the back wall, through the butler’s pantry that led to the cellar.

“It’s just there,” I said, gesturing to the cellar entrance.

Suddenly he was pressed up behind me, his face in my hair and his hands on my hips. I bit back a gasp as he pulled my ass onto the front of his jeans, already rigid with his erection.

Silently, he leaned down and mouthed my neck, hard, with his lips over his teeth. I marveled at his cleverness. That wouldn’t leave a mark.

He pushed me toward the bathroom and we walked there together. I was breathless with fear and excitement. He pushed me gently toward the sink and spun me around so my ass rested on the edge, closing the door behind him.

“Jackson, there are like nine people behind that wall!” I whispered, but my body was already on fire.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured, brushing my hair back from my face and staring into me. He raised my chin to kiss me but I held up my hand.

“Lipstick,” I explained apologetically. The last thing I wanted was for us both to be wearing ruby red when we went back to the party.

He nodded, grinning slyly. “I have to kiss you,” he said, and slid his hand down the back of my thigh to my knee, then he raised my knee and hooked it over his hip. I leaned back on the sink.