What the hell

The impact of his smile caught her so completely off guard she went still. Her heart pounded, a slow, heavy thud in her chest. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, a warmth spread through her that seeped all the way to her toes.

“I’m not going to Liverpool with you, Blondie.”

Shaking off the powerful need humming through her blood, Bella leaned forward. “$1000 says you will, Flash.”

He lifted both brows, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours. On the table.”

She pulled a bundle of dollars out of her purse and slid it to the middle of the table. When Madge showed up with Miguel’s food, Bella handed the waitress the bundles

“Miguel and I have a little bet going, Madge. Think you could hold this for a few days?”

“Sure thing, sugar.” The money disappeared down the woman’s large cleavage. “This have anything to do with that fish you were arguing about earlier?”

Bella grinned at Miguel, was surprised when he grinned back. “Something like that.”

“You just let me know who wins the bet.” Madge patted her bosom. “For now, it’s safe as gold in Fort Knox.”

After the waitress left, Miguel reached for his hamburger. “The wedding is Saturday,” he said around a big bite. “I’m leaving on Sunday. You haven’t got much time.”

“I’ve got all the time I need and then some.” The man was much too smug for his own good, Bella thought, and she couldn’t wait to be the one to knock him down a few pegs. “Oh, that reminds me, do you mind if we stop by the pos t office after lunch? There’s a package from dad waiting for me.”

~~~
He couldn’t sleep.

At midnight he tossed the covers off and punched his pillow. At twelve-thirty, he stared at the sliver of light coming through his bedroom window and counted backward from fifty. At one o’clock, he swore and sat on the edge of the bed.

He wasn’t going to open the damn package which was meant for her but she gave it to him.

Bella had left it on the front seat of the truck’s cab when he’d dropped her off at her room. She’d looked so pleased with herself when she’d hopped out of the truck and waved goodbye. The woman was enough to drive any man crazy.

He thought about her lying in bed right now, that long, curvy body, her soft, silky skin. He imagined the feel of her breasts against his chest as he covered her body with his and pressed her into the mattress.

His fists tightened on the rumpled sheets. Frustrated, he decided he was better off thinking about the package than Bella Trump.

What could possibly be inside the shoebox-size parcel that would matter to him? What prove did her father have against Agatha? Some pictures of people he’d never known? A few mementos that had belonged to a father who had died before he was even born? Or maybe a present, a bribe of some kind to entice him to come to Liverpool.

What he didn't know was Bella had already told her dad about him and the man wanted him to work with him.

He didn’t care if the Queen’s jewels were in that box. He wasn’t going anywhere but back to Liverpool and kill Bella Trump. His leave was up in six days, and he’d already been assigned to an undercover unit in Cairo. He’d be on a plane a few days from now, then gone for at least three months.

With a sigh he dragged both hands over his scalp. It was his third high-risk assignment in eighteen months. The Agatha company had been his front for the past ten years, since he’d been recruited as the heir of the underground Mafia group that even he didn't know much about.

The man he had Called his grandfather was his adopted father given that the ma didn't have any child to call his. He had been taking care of everything about Agatha including all other shady deals like killing and transporting drugs.

Actually, the old man has built this hotel in this rural area like a backup location. As far as everyone in the outside world knew, he was a simple business man traveling overseas. Nobody could ever guess he was the boss behind Agatha because he didn't even bear the old man's name.

Strange how ten years could feel like a lifetime.

He wasn’t sure why he did it anymore. Not for the money. He’d never cared about money, and besides, he’d invested well over the past ten years and didn’t have to work another day if he didn’t want to. And he certainly didn’t do it for the rush. The first few years he’d thrived on the adrenaline, the danger, but that honeymoon was long over, too.

Taking on his jeans, he stumbled to the kitchen and turned on the light. He thought about a beer, but knew that wouldn’t be strong enough to cut the edge off the tension knotting his body. There was a bottle of Johnny Walker in the cupboard. He’d been saving it for the prewedding dinner at Drake and Julianna’s house tomorrow night—tonight, he corrected himself.

Oh, what the hell.