Escape by Deana Birch

Author:Deana Birch [Birch, Deana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Erotic Romance Fiction
Publisher: Totally Entwined Group
Published: 2020-06-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Leo

The shy glances at our table meant that if my brother didn’t already know I was at Chezzie’s, he would in a matter of minutes. But I didn’t care. The slow pull back to who I was meant to be had begun the moment I’d walked away. And my little stare-down with Anton was him reminding me that I’d once again stepped on his toes.

It was hard to find a part of me that gave a shit. I was going to eat up my slice of normal with Fiona and lick the plate clean. Hell, maybe she’d even kiss me again. Or maybe I would just go ahead, man up and kiss her. Christ, if she kept blushing like she had when I’d opened the door for her, I was going to lose my mind.

Fiona took a cautious sip of her wine.

“Not a fan of wine?” I asked.

She batted her eyelashes, but not in a fake way—more like reflection. It was one of those small things that added to her greater beauty. “I don’t like to be out of control.”

Everything she said seemed to have hidden meanings, half of them being unraveled by my brain and the other half wishing she was flirting. But there was no mystery about why she would never let go. She’d never had a safety net. In fact, she was the safety net—not just for Violet, but for herself, too.

Chezzie walked over carrying a huge plate of antipasto, and my stomach did a happy dance. Roasted red peppers, grilled eggplant and zucchini—all drizzled with oil and balsamic vinegar. Real food. I could have wept.

We thanked my aunt and I served Fiona before piling up my own small plate.

“So…” Fiona leaned in. “There are no menus? She just brings us food?”

“Yup.” I cut the eggplant and shoved it in my mouth. As I chewed it, the tension that I’d been holding in my shoulders the entire day softened. A brief flash of a gun being pointed directly at me popped into my head. I hadn’t flinched, nor had I hesitated. All my movements had been perfect. Dad would have been proud—or maybe not. I hadn’t killed anyone.

“Hey,” Fiona said in a soft voice and she placed her hand over mine, “where’d you go there?”

I shook my head, rattling away the memory. “Sorry. Long day.”

Fiona brushed her thumb over my knuckle—it was a tender gesture that I shouldn’t get used to. She glanced around before asking in a low voice, “How did you do it, anyway? How did you get her back?”

Telling her it was easy would have been pompous, and I didn’t want to be that way around her anymore. I raked my fingers through my hair then squeezed my shoulders. She waited with such patience, such concern, that it merited the truth, however tiny it might be.

“It’s what I’ve trained for. Plus, most of Bradford is high half the time. It’s not even a fair fight.” I went back to my food and mopped up the remaining sauce with a piece of olive bread.

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