Chapter 4

Jenna

Everything about the tattooed bad boy made my body ache. From the deep sound of his voice to the way he watched me like he knew something I didn't. If I could be as ballsy with him as I was with my friends and family, we'd be in business.

The business of making him spew like a fountain.

I blushed at my line of thinking, which only led me to feel like more of an idiot. No one could hear my internal thoughts. After watching him flirt with Cynthia, I gave him a shy smile and went back to helping customers. The mantra in my head rolled over and over, each time the chant grew louder.

Live a little. Say something to him. Live a little. Say something to him.

"Hey. You okay?" Sam stopped beside me and rubbed the top of my back.

"What? Yeah. Of course." I turned to face him and gave him an innocent smile. "Why do you ask?"

"Cause you get really stiff when that guy comes in. I've noticed it over the last few months especially. Is he bothering you?" Sam lifted his eyebrow. "Cause I can-"

"What?" I chuckled. "No. I mean, no. He's great. He's loyal to this place." I glanced toward Nathaniel, only knowing his name because unlike me, Cynthia wasn't shy at all. "I'm just attracted to him. It's... complicated?"

"I'd say so." Sam laughed softly. "Attracted to him? Why? He looks like a hood-rat."

My attention turned back to Nate. Thick muscles stretched his black t-shirt, and the tattoos running down his arms were tribal, dark, angry. His eyes were the color of the center of the ocean. Brilliant and drawing. His smile was sexy and promised things I wasn't even sure I could survive. And the way he filled out his jeans... fuck me.

"I love how he looks." I sucked in a quick breath, embarrassed as hell by the airiness of my voice. It'd been a year of fantasizing over the hood-rat sitting by the window, sipping his coffee and watching the world go by outside. How many times had I writhed in my bed, my fingers punishing my pussy with him in my mind's eye?

"I can see that. Go talk to him." Sam bumped his shoulder against mine, moving me out of the way of the register.

"What? No." I shook my head and looked up at my boss as fear raped my insides. "I'm on the clock."

"Who cares? I've never seen you light up like you just did. Like it's Christmas around here. Get out there."

"You just called him a hood-rat."

"So? You disagreed."

"I take it back," I stumbled over my words. "I can't. I just..."

"You just need to stop being silly and get over there. He's been coming in here for a year, and honestly... he hates coffee."

"What?" I glanced over at Nate as my heart beat frantically in my chest. Every nerve ending inside of me pulsed in anticipation of the doors that could open from a simple conversation. Would he take me home that day? Strip me naked and lick every inch of me?

A groan lodged in my throat, and heat burned my chest and neck.

"The man hates coffee."

"So you know him now?" I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to relax a little. It wasn't going to happen, but fuck if I wasn't trying to force it.

"No, but I know coffee drinkers, and he ain't one of them." Sam smiled. "Go. Seriously."

"I will after you tell me how you know he's not a coffee drinker. I think you're full of it."

"Nope. Watch when he takes a drink. He winces."

"Maybe it's hot."

"Or maybe it's that he doesn't like the bitter flavor of coffee."

"He could have added cream to it, Sam. Or a flavoring." I watched Nate lift the cup to his lips and damn if he didn't wince. There was no way the drink was still hot. He didn't like it.

"A man like that adding cream and sugar to his coffee. Sacrilege. He'd look like a girly man."

"My father drinks his coffee with cream." I turned back to Sam and waved. "Never mind that. Why do you think he's been coming in here for a year if he hates coffee?"

"You, pretty girl. Get over there and stop playing innocent. You're not fooling anyone."

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes playfully and grabbed a blueberry muffin before heading that way. The plate shook in my hand, and I hated myself for being so damn nervous, but if the poor guy, or anyone else, knew the number of fantasies I'd experienced because of him... I'd die a slow death.

Nate turned his head and licked the side of his perfect mouth subtly. "Jenna. How are you?"

Four words. It was a record.

"I'm good." I glanced over my shoulder to find Sam staring us down. "My boss wanted me to bring this over."

"That so?" He nodded toward the table and leaned back. Cocky ass. "Set it down. I don't bite on the first date."

"This isn't a date." I forced myself to sound like the type of snob my brother would be proud of.

"No? All right then. A year of flirting and no date? Harsh, baby girl. Harsh."

Baby girl? Why did him calling me some silly, childish name leave warmth swirling in the pit of my stomach?

His eyes dragged across me as I stood there, looking like the moron I was.

"Anyway. Here you go." I set the plate down and turned as Nate reached out and grabbed my wrist.

"Thank you, Jenna." He smiled and the world melted around me. I could almost hear the sound of my own screams from the morning before. Coming to the image of him touching me, owning me, fucking me within an inch of my life. If only it were more than an early morning fantasy.

"Anytime," I whispered and pulled my hand from his slowly. His hand was rough, calloused, strong. I turned before I mumbled something embarrassing and gave my internal thoughts life by speaking them out loud.

I wanted him in ways that I'd never voice. Not to anyone. Especially not him.

****

The rest of the afternoon was a blur as various customers filled up the small shop. Nate left about an hour after our conversation, which I didn't blame him a bit for. He deserved a real woman, someone who had the courage to invite him out or sit in his lap, or something hot and uncouth.

After cleaning up, I headed home for a quick shower and changed into a cream-colored dress for my sister-in-law’s birthday party. My brother could sit on something and rotate. I wasn't getting Denise diamonds of any sort. I wasn't getting her anything. She was a grown-ass woman with a billionaire husband. If she didn't have it already, he could buy it.

I'd stopped accepting money from my family years before, much to my parents’ aggravation. Why no one could understand that I wanted to be independent and proud of making my own way in the world was beyond me.

I pulled up to the oversized mansion by the bay and nodded at the valet who opened the door.

"Evening, Miss Jenna. How are you?" The middle-aged man nodded. I could never remember anyone's name seeing that my mother replaced staff like she did her shoes - often.

"I'm great. How are you?" I ran my fingers through my shoulder-length hair and pushed it over my shoulder.

"Excellent. Enjoy your evening." He got into my Toyota as I walked toward the house. A couple of deep breaths later, I was walking toward the sound of my family, laughing over something in the kitchen.

"And then Denise told them to try again. She could still hear the cow mooing." My brother laughed loudly, and everyone standing around him did as well. His bombshell blond wife was tucked against his side, her smile as fake as her breasts.

My father turned toward me and smiled. "There's my little girl. How are you?"

Everyone said their hellos, and I walked around and gave out hugs, hating every second of it. Denise squeezed me before moving back and gripping my shoulders.

"Darek tells me that you work down at De Luca. I love that place." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

I still wanted to know where my brother found someone like her. She was plastic. Fake. Cold. A complete lie.

"Yeah, but keep it to yourself. I'm happy living my little undercover life." I pulled back from her hold and moved over to pour myself a glass of wine.

My brother snorted and went into another story, this one about me being independent and failing at it during my freshman year. My twin sister stood to Darek's left, wrapped around a thin Asian guy I'd never met. My father and a few of his friends were in the circle, but my mother wasn't.

"Where's Mom?" I turned toward Kayla. She looked enough like me that it was obvious that we were sisters, but no one would ever guess twins.

"No clue. Go find her." She smiled. "You like finding things. Strays, adventure, yourself."

"You have something in your teeth. Big and green." I pointed to my mouth and smirked. Bitch.

The house was quiet as I walked through the long hallway that led toward my father's office. The bottles of brandy he kept hidden in his cabinet were calling me. It was the only thing strong enough that I wouldn't get sick on. I needed something to help me make it through the night.

I poured myself a quick glass and walked over to the small circular table in the middle of the room. Pictures were spread out of the Bertinelli family. I picked up an 8x10 of Erik, the best hitman in all of the United States. The son of the great Lucian Bertinelli. The family was one of the last remaining syndicates of old.

"How are you still roaming the streets?" I smiled and let my eyes move across Erik. He was beautiful, evil, delicious. Dark hair and eyes that said he would fuck you up without blinking twice stared back at me. "Too dangerous."

I liked the idea of getting involved with a bad boy, but Erik was a bit much. He seemed like the kind of guy that would fuck you and gut you in the same evening if he felt up to it. Nate looked the part, but something told me he wasn't at all the evil bastard some of my fantasies had forged him to be.

"Jenna?"

I turned at the sound of my father's voice and lifted my glass. "Just giving a toast to the Bertinelli family."

He chuckled and walked in to wrap me in a warm hug from behind. "And why would you do that? That young man right there is the reason I have so many gray hairs."

"No, Mom is the reason you have gray hair. Erik and his family are the reason you have food in the cabinets and a big house in the hills." I leaned against him, grateful that one member of my family felt real, true, right.

"This is true." He kissed the top of my head. "Promise me that you'll never get involved with an asshole like him? Find you a good man who makes his living being a good and decent citizen."

I pulled away from him and turned, smiling. "Can he look like a bad boy?"

My father rolled his eyes. "No, and you know why."

"Because most who look the part-"

"Are the part." He reached out and pinched my chin softly. "My little girl deserves the best in life."

"Define best." I smirked. It was our favorite discussion since I was a teenager. Best was relative, as was love, looks, and riches.

In my world, it was all a lie. In my father’s, it was the truth.