Instinctively, Bella knew Matteo’s phone call was about Rasheed Al-Zahawi. So why the hell was she out here in the restaurant? 

What she should’ve done was sat her ass in a chair and stayed until he asked her to leave, or planted one of the several listening devices stored in her backpack. But instead, she left him alone to talk to someone Jameson knew, about the man who killed her dad.

She was a fool, and too damn soft where Matteo was concerned. He muddled her mind. Kept her from doing her job. Dammit.

Rasheed was her mark. Her sanctioned hit. She couldn’t allow feelings for her childhood crush to screw up her mission. Her life-long mission to remove Rasheed’s evil from the world.

Of course, she hadn’t stood idly by, eating pizza and gabbing to Joe, either. A quick text to her friend Brooke, who worked for Jameson Knight at the Knight Agency, netted her the identity of Matteo’s caller.

Commander Greg Lambert.

Admiration warmed her blood. Admiration for the commander and his achievements known throughout her circle of peers, and for Matteo and the fact a great leader like Lambert sought him out.

No surprise. The guy always gave a hundred and ten percent. He didn’t know how to fail.

She bit into her pizza, enjoying the combination of fresh mozzarella and marinara on a thin crust, with just the right thickness and hint of garlic that made her mouth water. Dammit. Even his pies were exceptional.

Taking another bite, she thought about her conversation with Joe, about things that happened while she was away. A rash of recent break-ins among a few shops on the boardwalk, and in town, a missing boat and a fire in an abandoned building. Were they relevant? Maybe not, but she was going to check them out…after she saw her godfather.

But she’d have to wait for Matteo to take her, since Joe also told her only family was allowed to visit.

Smart move.

A prickling at the base of her neck spread out to bite across her shoulders. If someone cold-cocked him, they were going to beg to be arrested.

“Bella, you ready?” Matteo’s deep, delicious tone turned the prickling to tingling across her shoulders.

She turned, and noted he’d donned a black leather jacket over his red Santarelli Pizza T-shirt, and damn, she enjoyed the view of all six foot one of incredible, lethal, confident, muscle striding her way. The tingle grew to a shiver as his dark gaze remained on her, warming parts that normally stayed frozen.

Good or bad? Jury was still out.

“Always,” she replied, receiving a sexy grin that shifted her heart.

Okay. Bad. Definitely bad.

She didn’t need the man messing with that organ. Again. Last time, she willingly offered it to him, only to receive a refusal.

No thank you.

No matter how damn hot he was, or how much her body longed to feel that sexy stubble graze her skin. Dammit.

She tossed her plate in the trash, swiped her drink off the counter, and proceeded to suck down the last of her lemonade. All was going well, until he made a strangled noise, and she glanced to find his gaze on her mouth.

A flood of awareness hit her body, jolting it awake, concentrating on her neglected areas, until she was ready to either smack him, or ride him. Deciding to do neither, she listened to the devil on her shoulder and sucked harder, louder, then slowly removed the straw from her mouth, before throwing the cup away.

Yeah, she was bad. Downright wicked, even, because she walked straight for him, smiled up into his dazed face, and reached out to grab her satellite phone he gripped near his hip. “Ready.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned around and nodded to Joe as she stuffed the phone into her backpack on her way to the door.

“We’re going to see my dad,” Matteo told Joe, right on her six. “Russell should be in soon.” Reaching around her to open the door, he leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Be careful, Bella. You shouldn’t play with fire.”

Ignoring him would’ve been the smart thing. Yep. Ignore him and keep walking through the door, but did she listen? No. Instead, she listened to the damn devil on her shoulder again, who continued to give bad advice, because she stopped dead, causing Matteo to crash the front of his hard, rigid body into her back.

Operating on awareness overload, she trembled as she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at him, telling herself she didn’t love the feel of that delicious stubble brushing her face. “Marines don’t play…Frogman.”

With that, Bella pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped out onto the boardwalk, welcoming the sharp wind blowing off the Atlantic. The cold air slapped the stupid from her brain, cooled her neglected libido, and restored her focus.

Was her stupid, idiotic teenage persona going to rear its hopeless head around Matteo the whole damn time he was near? God, she hoped not. It was damned embarrassing, and dangerous to the success of her assignment.

Killing Rasheed was her mission. Not flirting with Matteo.

Drawing in a good, deep lungful of the magic air, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked next to an equally composed former SEAL. Together, they nodded to Omar and two of his sons, Paresh and Jalil, as they passed his sundry shop. The Guptas had been around for as long as Bella could remember. Her dad and Matteo’s, used to go deep-sea fishing every spring. Back when the world was a fairy tale and nightmares didn’t exist.

Now, they were a way of life and fairy tales were fiction.

“Thanks again, for the use of your phone,” Matteo said, snapping her out of her melancholy, as they turned the corner to head down the ramp toward the parking lot.

She shrugged, and decided to do a little fishing herself. “No problem. I take it you had a good conversation?”

Now he shrugged. “Yeah.” He cupped her elbow and nodded toward the lot behind the buildings. “I’m parked here.”

“So, is there a reason we went around the buildings instead of using the back door in Santarelli’s?” she asked, trying to dissuade her heart from fluttering as he led her to a sexy black Charger, but failed when he unlocked and opened the passenger door for her.

Sweet man.

Stupid organ.

“Yes,” he replied, after getting in and starting the car. “I wanted a quick peek inside Omar’s shop.”

Omar’s?

A heavy feeling settled in her stomach. “Why? Because of the phone call? Or your dad?” Either way, she decided it wasn’t good.

Turning to face him, she studied his profile while he drove through town, noting his hunched shoulders and dark circles beneath his eyes from his obvious lack of sleep. And worry.

He lifted a shoulder. “It sucks. I know,” he said, steering wheel creaking in his tight grasp. “But, until I find out what really happened, I’m conditioned to think the worst. So…everybody’s suspect.”

She sighed. “I agree. We aren’t taking any chances with your dad.”

His gaze snapped to hers, and a slight twinkle lightened the dark depths. “We?”

“Damn straight.” She smiled. “If anyone hurt him, they’re going to have to answer to me, too.”

“After I spend some quality time with them.”

“Of course,” she said. “Mr. Frogman. Sir.”

He chuckled, and the sound sent a damn zing spiraling through her chest, cracking the shell surrounding her heart. His eyes continued to sparkle. “You can call me Master Chief. Or just…Master.”

Laughter burst from her chest, echoing through the car as she worked to catch her breath. “That’s a good one. I’d tell you to kiss my ass, but I have a feeling you’d enjoy that too much.”

“So would you,” he murmured in a low, sexy tone. “Believe me, baby. So would you.”

And just like that, all the amusement warming her veins switched to arousal, turning her blood into liquid heat. She shifted in her seat and told her good parts to forget it. They’d never get a shot at him. The man was just playing. He’d never go against his father’s wishes.

Although, she doubted his dad would have a problem with them getting together now that she was well out of her teens. Still, things were different now. She was different now. Matteo deserved better. It wasn’t worth the pursuit.

Deciding not to fight a losing battle, Bella didn’t bother to reply, and changed the subject instead. “Did you notice anything amiss at Omar’s shop?”

“No,” he replied, turning into the parking lot of the Atlantic Rehabilitation Medical Center. “Half of me is relieved, but the other half is frustrated as hell.” Muttering under his breath, he pulled into a spot and jammed the car in park, “If only the stubborn fool had put an actual security system in place.”

Without thinking, Bella reached out to set her hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded, and released the steering wheel to set his hand on her knee, as if the reaction was as natural as breathing. Exactly how it felt. Natural. A comfort, not a sexual advance. She wasn’t even tempted to break his hand, like she would’ve with anyone else who touched her there without an invitation.

“Bella.” He sat there, staring at her with his mouth open as if he wanted to tell her something, a flicker of guilt clouding his gaze. But then he blinked, and it was gone. “We should go in,” he said, releasing her to grab his keys.

What the hell was that all about?

Unsure she even wanted to know, she nodded. “Can you pop the trunk? I’d like to leave my backpack.”

Weapons weren’t usually required inside a hospital, and if they happened to have security set up to search bags, she wasn’t in the mood to explain her stash.

“Sure.” He hit a button on the lower left side of his dash, and a soft thud sounded a second before the trunk opened.

“Thanks.” She got out, tossed her pack inside, and slammed the trunk shut, before joining him on the sidewalk in front of his car. “Maybe you should tell me what to expect.” There were different types of strokes, and different levels of damage.

His sigh fogged the cold air as they walked toward the entrance. “Just imagine the worst. His speech is slurred and he can’t walk.”

The worst was losing your father. His was alive, which was a gift. Anything else her godfather could overcome. “Yet,” she said, meeting his gaze as he held the door open for her. “He’s too stubborn to stay that way.”

A smile tugged his lips. “True.” After he signed them in at the front desk, he cupped her elbow and led her down a corridor where he took a left, and then a right, before stopping at a private room. “Just remember, it’s like you said. He won’t always be like this.”

Before anxiety had a chance to settle in her belly, he tugged her into the room.