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  • Home > Katie Ashley > Runaway Train > Beat of the Heart (Page 19)     
    Beat of the Heart(Runaway Train #2) by Katie Ashley
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    His smile widened. “Thank you.”

    “No, thank you.”

    I leaned over to kiss him again when Benny’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Sir?” he asked hesitantly.

    “Yeah?” AJ croaked.

    “We’ve, uh, been here at the restaurant about fifteen minutes. I was letting you…um, finish.”

    Glancing down at our still joined bodies, AJ laughed. “Thanks, Benny. But we’re still going to need a minute or two.”

    As I slid off of him, a delicious soreness filled my lower half—one I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. “Can you zip me up?”

    “With pleasure.”

    “One sec.” I quickly adjusted my breasts back into the cups of the bodice before I turned slightly. Just as AJ’s fingers started pulling up the zipper, they stopped. “What’s wrong?”

    “Just admiring your ink,” he said, feeling along my shoulder blade.

    I tensed as he touched the puckered skin beneath the Italian script words of the tattoo. “Thanks,” I murmured. Suddenly all the languid, post orgasmic bliss was snatched away.

    “Did you get in an accident or something?”

    My eyes pinched shut as a horrific memory assaulted my mind. “Something like that,” I finally replied.

    AJ must’ve sensed I didn’t want to talk about it because he finished raising the zipper up my back. Once he was finished, I leaned forward to try and find my crumpled panties. Feeling blindly along the floor, I sighed.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “Finding black panties on a black limo floor is harder than I thought.”

    “Shit, I’d turn the lights on, but…” I glanced over my shoulder. Although he’d gotten rid of the condom, he still hadn’t gotten his pants back up yet.

    At the feel of lace, I shook my head. “Got them.” I collapsed back on the seat before shimmying them back up my thighs. AJ watched my every move. After I readjusted my dress, I cocked my brows at him. “Quit eye-balling me and fix your shirt.”

    He responded with a bark of a laugh. Grabbing my purse, I dug out my brush, lipstick and body spray. As AJ readjusted his tie and tucked his shirt in his pants, I went about trying to make my appearance a little less ‘I just screwed my eyes out in the back of a Hummer limo’. After spritzing my thighs and arms with the body spray, I reached over and sprayed AJ.

    “What the fuck?” He sniffed his shirt. “I smell like a chick.”

    “Better than smelling like sex.”

    A smirk curved on his lips. “That happens to be one of my favorite scents.”

    Out of my purse, I produced some hand sanitizer. As he eyed me suspiciously, I patted one of my hands over his mouth and cheeks like aftershave. “Ow! That burns like hell,” he whined.

    “Yeah, well, I know sex is one of your favorite smells, but I’m not going in a restaurant with you if you’re smelling like sex and…” I trailed off, not wanting to say the word.

    “Pussy?” he questioned.

    With a grimace, I replied. “Yes.”

    “Whatever.”

    Cocking my head at him, I asked, “So sex isn’t your top scent, huh?”

    He shrugged. “Nah, probably Top Five. I gotta give props to some others like my drum set and my abuela’s tamales.”

    “Speaking of tamales, are we eating Mexican tonight?”

    “Actually, we’re eating at my favorite Italian restaurant. I figured with you being Sicilian, you’d probably like that.”

    “I do.”

    “Then for dessert, we’re going down the block to my favorite Mexican café. They make Flan that melts in your mouth. It’s fucking fabulous.”

    I shuddered as an eerie feeling came over me. No, it couldn’t be. Out of all the restaurants in the entire city, it couldn’t be possible that AJ had picked my family’s restaurant to eat at. But then again what were the odds of an Italian and Mexican place on the same street? “Where are we eating?”

    “Mama Sofia’s. You know it?”

    I gulped down the rising bile in my throat. “Yeah, it’s my dad’s.”

    6

    My eyes widened at Mia’s revelation. “You’re shitting me.”

    “Sadly, I’m not.”

    Glancing from her to the building, I shook my head. “Why do you look so upset? Mama Sofia’s is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s one helluva gold mine for your family I bet.”

    “Yes, it is,” she replied modestly.

    “Seriously, Mia, this place is awesome—I mean, not only is the food amazing, but everyone who works there is fabulous. You come from good people.”

    “Thanks.”

    Then it hit me. “Wait a minute. You’re Duke’s daughter?”

    Mia paled a little further. “Yes.”

    “Fuck me, this is intense.”

    “I guess this means besides being a connoisseur of Italian food, you’re also a traitor to your culture by liking American football?”

    I laughed. “Yeah, I guess you could say it like that. But come on, your dad’s a legend around these parts.”

    With a shadow of a smile, Mia replied, “Not to mention his face is plastered all over the back wall of the restaurant.”

    “And for good reason.” Enzo aka ‘Duke’ Martinelli had been one of the best wide receivers the Atlanta Falcons had back in the late 70’s and early 80’s. An injury had taken him out of the professional football arena, so after spending a few years teaching and coaching, he’d started a restaurant on the side with his parents. That had grown into what was now Mama Sofia’s. I’d gotten the lowdown one night when after casually asking to meet Duke, he came out and had dinner with me. “Your dad is amazing.”

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