My eyes return to the bar, and I nearly growl into my drink. Why did Santino have to show up and distract me?
Mac notices my change in demeanor, and his eyes follow mine to where Santino stands at the bar with the Harris brothers. He turns his back on all the ladies talking near us. His voice is low and ominous when he leans in and asks, “Is it alright he’s here?”
My spine straightens defensively. “Why would I care?” I take another drink.
“Because you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Mac replies knowingly. “I still don’t know exactly what the hell went on between you two, but I trusted you when you told me he wasn’t the one who put you in your position five years ago.”
“Mac,” I warn, narrowing my eyes at him. “We’re not discussing that.”
“I know, I know,” he grumbles and takes a drink. “I still would like to beat the piss out of him. He’s got the kind of face that could just do with a nice smashing.” Mac eyes me cautiously. “All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll punt him out of here faster than a football.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not punting anyone. You can barely bend your arms in that suit.”
Mac’s cheeks turn red as he smooths his hand over his lapel. “It’s a wee bit tighter than the last time I wore it.”
“Last time you wore it, you were probably drinking protein shakes and running five miles a day on the pitch.”
Mac’s nose wrinkles. “Bloody desk job is making me soft.”
“You’re soft because you’re happy,” I reply with a small smile, trying to change the subject.
Mac smiles back. “Aye.”
He glances down at his mobile to reread the last text from Freya just five minutes ago. He’s been texting her most of the night like a sweet, overprotective husband. Freya all but forced him to go out tonight. She said she needed some time to talk to their two cats, Hercules and Jasper, about the baby on the way.
God, she’s weird. I love her.
Mac diverts his attention back to me. “Sorry if I’ve been a bit of a grumpy bear since you arrived. I’ve just been stressed about Freya and the bairn. You know I love the shite out of you for helping us out like this, don’t you?”
“You didn’t love the shite out of me before?”
Mac’s brows furrow. “Of course I did, but…well…you’ve been different since—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, my lips thinning nervously. “Don’t bring it up. It’s in the past, aye?” I plaster on a smile that I don’t altogether feel, but I want my brother to let this train of thought go. Now.
Mac stares back at me, taking in every feature on my face and making me feel like he sees right through me. He gets a soft look in his eye that I swear to Christ, all Scottish men in my life have. It’s the kind that says, I’m tough as an ox on the outside but soft as a lily on the inside, and I’ve got too many feelings to know what to do with myself.
His nostrils flare before he nods firmly. “Aye. I won’t bring it up again.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders, and the smell of his whiskey permeates my nose. “It’s been good to see you like this, Tilly—a bit like the old Tilly, when you were wee.”
“I’m the new Tilly,” I correct with an elbow to his ribs to get his alcohol scent away from me. “New and improved and having a great time tonight, so thanks for bringing me out.”
Glancing over, I see no sign of Santino at the bar anymore, so I shake my glass at Mac. “Going to get a refill.”
“I can get it.”
“That’s okay.” I wave him off. “I can take care of myself.”
“So you keep telling me.” Mac gets a proud look in his eye just like our dad does, but his attention is diverted to Roan and Booker, who have just entered our space.
I make my way to the bar and set my glass down as I wait for the bartender to finish with the couple he’s currently serving. Drumming my fingers on the lacquered wood, I try to remember the last thing I said to Santino. I think it was quite cruel. But at that time in my life, I needed to be on my own. I didn’t need a man meddling and trying to take over when I had heavy stuff to sort out.
“Hiya, Trouble,” a familiar posh British accent utters from beside me, and my thoughts are instantly assaulted with a memory.
“You look like trouble,” Santino Rossi says, a flash of wickedness in his dark, soulful eyes.
“You look like you like trouble.” I take another shot before grabbing his tie and pulling his lips to mine.
I press a thumb into my palm to calm my nerves before turning to face the man whose face I can never forget, no matter how hard I try.
“Hello, Sonny,” I reply with a lift of my brows as I take in Santino leaning at the end of the bar, looking like he’s posing for a James Bond movie poster.
He laughs at my use of the nickname I gave him the first night we met as he strides toward my place at the bar. My eyes drink in his tall, broad frame because I’d hoped my memories of how attractive he was were exaggerated. I was drinking a lot of alcohol back then, and most of the places I saw Santino were dark nightclubs or low-lit bedrooms.
Unfortunately, he’s even hotter than I remembered.
Damn him.
Why is it that men get older and hotter while women continue to fight signs of aging with expensive creams and horrid things like Spanx? Life is so unfair.
He sidles up next to me at the bar, and I struggle to meet his gaze, feeling strangely exposed in the bright conference hall lighting.
“You’ll be pleased to learn that I’ve read all of the Godfather books since we met,” he says, towering over me and reminding me of the fact that he is one of the very few men in my life who manage to make me feel small.
“You actually read the books?” I lift my eyes to meet his with genuine interest. “Most men would have opted for the films.”
“Well, you wouldn’t shut up about them, so I had to see what all the fuss was about.” His dark eyes dance with mirth.
I purse my lips, trying to stop the butterflies in my belly. “And did you relate to your namesake, Santino ‘Sonny’ Corleone?”
His lips pull back into a smile, revealing his perfect white teeth that are a stunning contrast to his olive-skinned complexion. “My Italian mother isn’t the Godfather fanatic you are, so I can’t say he’s my namesake.” Santino presses his lips together to hide his amusement. “Though we do have one very big thing in common.”
I cover my mouth to conceal my giggle because I know exactly what he’s referring to. Santino “Sonny” Corleone was the eldest brother in The Godfather. He was known for being bad-tempered, violent…
…and very well endowed.
I face forward and school my features to appear uninterested. “I can’t say I remember that particular fact about you.”
Santino laughs softly, causing his arm to brush against me. He turns to look over his shoulder behind us. “Is your brother going to kick my arse if I stand too close to you?”
I follow his gaze to see Mac watching us with narrowed eyes. “You’re safe…for now.”
Santino turns his gaze back to me, and a tender look sweeps across his face. “How the bloody hell are you, Tilly Logan?”