Risking Romero (The Adamos Book 9) Read online

  The man does not waste time. I smile. “Okay, then.”

  His thumb grazes over my lower lip and I feel it deep inside. Romero lowers his head, brushing his lips over mine, softly, and a tiny whimper of need escapes me. He responds at once, sealing his mouth to mine, and a dark, wild energy rushes between us in the instant before the twins come clattering down the stairs.

  We break off and stare at each other. Romero’s eyes are glowing; every cell in my body seems to tremble in reply. Footsteps sound outside the kitchen, and he takes a step back.

  Quinn comes in wearing a cute little powder-blue sundress, followed by Bree in an all-black rock-star outfit, jeans and t-shirt and boots.

  Bree baked this morning too, and has a batch of cookies cooling on the counter. She gets out one of the boxes we used to use for the farmers’ market and starts packing the cookies in it. “Since we’re barging into the police station, I figure we should bring a peace offering,” she explains.

  I do roll my eyes then, to let her know I’m wise to her, but don’t object. My sisters have put makeup on, and now I wish I had too, especially since I’ll be going out later. That decides me. “I’ll be right back,” I announce, and make another dash out and up the stairs.

  A hint of blusher, a swipe of mascara, and some lip gloss, and I hurry back down to find everyone waiting for me. When Romero catches sight of me, something primal flickers in his eyes. I almost jump him then, sisters or no sisters, but manage to behave myself.

  We follow him out to his car, a gleaming black sedan, one of the pricy ones. Not super luxe, but not cheap. My sisters aim for the back seat doors, saving us all the indignity of tussling for the passenger seat next to Romero.

  The car hums to life and glides down our dirt driveway like it’s floating on a cloud. I watch his hands, strong and capable, on the controls. A prickling of heat between my legs makes me squirm.

  I need to distract myself. “Where did you go to law school?”

  “Harvard.”

  My jaw drops open and I snap it shut again before he can notice. “And you’re practicing here?”

  “I did a few years in New York. If I’d wanted a life of eighty-hour work weeks and never seeing my family, I could have stayed, gone for partner.”

  He makes the turn onto the state highway that runs into town. The car accelerates smoothly, and I feel the power hidden beneath its sleek frame. “But money was never my ultimate priority,” he continues. “So I put in my time, worked my ass off, learned a hell of a lot, and came home to start my own practice.”

  “I think a lot of people would have said goodbye to this town without a backward glance, especially for the chance to live in the Big Apple.”

  “It’s a hell of a city. There’s a lot there to appreciate. It just wasn’t for me, in the long run.”

  “You must be really close to your family.”

  “They’re a hell of a family,” he says, and I laugh. “Seriously, though. I missed them every single day that I was away.”

  He says it with unfeigned affection, and I get a funny feeling in my chest. Sexy, smart, and loyal too … the man’s much more than fantasy fodder.

  4

  Mine

  I’m keenly aware of Jade next to me. That interrupted kiss got my engine revving and I can barely wait to pick up where we left off. I can see her legs from the corner of my eye, demurely covered by plain pants that somehow draw my attention instead of deflecting it. If I turn my head just a little, I can see the swell of her breasts, draped in a blouse made of some soft fabric that clings in all the right places.

  Her sisters are talking in the back seat, their voices a background murmur whose meaning doesn’t penetrate. They’re a triple threat, these Callahan girls, though only Jade is giving me indecent thoughts.

  Brianna is a redhead, and Quinn is blonde, but all three have the same curve to their lips, the same arch to their eyebrows. I wonder if they resemble their mother, their father, or both.

  Which reminds me of another question I have. I glance at Jade to see she’s looking pensive. Troubled by the sadness in her eyes, I almost don’t ask, but I need to know. “When did your mother pass?”

  The chatter in the back seat cuts off abruptly; the silence in the car turns frosty. Jade’s jaw tightens. “I have no idea if she’s dead or alive. She took off when we were little.”

  For fuck’s sake; these poor girls. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

  “Not your fault.” Jade’s staring out the window at the orchards we’re passing, as if willing herself away from here. “How could you know? I guess she decided being a military wife wasn’t exciting enough.”

  I’ve seen plenty of dysfunctional families through my work, but it’s still hard to fathom a mother doing that, just taking off. There can be good reasons for ending things with a man — plenty of them — but under most of those circumstances, leaving small children behind would be unthinkable.

  “Your father never remarried?”

  She shakes her head. “He was all about us. Once we hit high school, we actually encouraged him to start dating again, but he was always busy working.”

  In the back seat, Quinn clears her throat. “I think he’d met someone.”

  Jade twists around to look at her. “What?”

  “I think it was online. Just a guess. I accidentally interrupted a couple of phone conversations that were obviously … personal.”

  “They were having phone sex?” Brianna says, sounding torn between horror and approval.

  “No! Jeez. He was just speaking in very soft tones, you know? Intimate. The way you talk when you’ve got a thing for someone.”

  “Why wouldn’t he tell us?” Jade says. She sounds hurt. The girls must have been very close to their father, growing up with him their only parent, and working side by side with him on the farm.

  “He probably wanted to wait until he’d actually met her,” Brianna muses. “Make sure she wasn’t some psycho. You know he’d be all about protecting us if it didn’t work out.”

  They fall silent as I make the turnoff into town. A few more blocks and the police station comes into view. Out of habit, I park in the back.

  Walking in with the Callahan sisters at my heels, I’m suddenly aware of the picture we make when heads turn from all directions. “Nice harem, Adamo,” one cop says.

  I shoot him a look. “Grow up, Nielsen.”

  “Not a chance.”

  All eyes are on us as I lead the way upstairs to the detectives’ bullpen, where a man dressed in black jeans and t-shirt rises from his desk and crosses to meet us. “Counselor. We weren’t expecting you.” He takes in my companions and raises his eyebrows in question.

  “I didn’t think you’d be here on a weekend,” I say.

  “Just tying up some loose ends from a case that wrapped yesterday.”

  “Ah.” I turn to the Callahans. “Ladies, I’d like you to meet my brother, Detective Lando Adamo.”

  I introduce the sisters in turn, and Brianna hands him the cookies. “I thought I’d bring something for the boys in blue,” she says, eyeing his all-black attire, so similar to her own. Her smile somehow manages to be sassy and sweet at the same time. “But you can have one anyway.”

  My brother has been charming women since he was approximately six minutes old, to hear my mother tell it. He gives Brianna a slow smile that says he might just take her up on her offer, and not the one about the cookies.

  I’m watching Jade watch her sister. She has an arm across her torso, her other elbow resting on the arm, her hand laid across her mouth, green eyes full of some emotion I can’t name. As if she’s studying the interaction … or trying very hard not to say something.

  Quinn breaks the moment. “Are you twins?” she asks. “You look a lot alike, even for brothers.”

  “We are,” Lando says, eyes gleaming with impish humor. “Romero got the brains, I got the sex appeal.”

  Jade makes a noise that’s not quite a snort
. Her sisters give her the side-eye; my brother grins and wiggles lascivious eyebrows at me. “Unless you’ve joined the Girl Scouts,” he says, “I don’t think you’re here just to bring me cookies.”

  I tilt my head toward Jade. “She needs to file a restraining order.”

  At once he turns serious. “C’mon over,” he says, and leads the way to his desk. Setting the box of cookies down, he opens it. “Snickerdoodles. I love ‘em.” He picks one up and takes a bite, and his eyes cut to Brianna. “You make these?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuckin’ delicious. Excuse my language.” He polishes the cookie off and grabs another one, and by the time he finishes it, his desk is surrounded by detectives.

  “Yeah, yeah, all right.” He hands out the cookies, one to each man, then takes a third for himself before he closes the box and puts it in one of his desk drawers.

  “Hey,” Detective Stuart objects. He’s a big blond galoot who fancies himself a ladies’ man.

  “Hey yourself,” Lando says. “Get your own Callahan girl.” He winks at Brianna, who tosses her hair like she’s still deciding what she thinks of him. Her eyes tell another story.

  “You bake, sweetheart?” Stuart says to Quinn. She blushes, starts to say something, then stares at the floor, smiling but not saying a word.

  He turns to Jade. Before he can say a word, my arm hooks around her waist and I’ve pulled her back against me. “Hands off, Stuart.”

  The possessiveness of my response startles me. I’ve never felt this way about a woman before, and I haven’t even slept with her yet.

  Stuart sneers at me. “Fraternizing with clients, Counselor? Maybe I should make a call to the bar association.”

  Before I can correct him, he crooks a finger at Jade. “Come over here and I’ll show you how a real man treats a woman.”

  Her face has gone cool, almost cold. “No, thank you.”

  If Stuart had any sense, he’d quit while the quitting was good. He doesn’t. “You don’t want to tangle with him. Those Adamos, they love ‘em and leave ‘em.”

  “And what do you do?” she retorts.

  “He’d leave ‘em if he could,” one of the other detectives calls out. “But he’d have to love ‘em first and he’s not so good at that part.”

  Stuart’s face turns a mottled red as laughter fills the room. He stomps back to his desk. Lando says to Jade, “Let’s get started with your statement.”

  I release her so she can sit down, then move behind her. If it looks like I’m standing guard, it’s because I am. And I have zero fucks to give about what anyone thinks.

  At his desk, Detective Stuart is glaring at me like if I had a puppy, he’d run it over. I stare back at him until he drops his eyes.

  Message delivered.

  Jade Callahan is mine.

  5

  I Won’t Fall In Love

  I do my best to focus on the business at hand, explaining to Lando about Ralph Turnbull and why I need a restraining order. But my mind is whirling, and my body is attuned to the man standing behind me.

  When Romero pulled me against him, all I could think was how right it felt. Not only right, but oddly familiar, as if we’d stood that way a thousand times before. I was safe and protected and wanted.

  At the same time, feeling that way about a man I’ve just met shocked me. Part of me feels almost giddy, but I’m forcing myself not to get too excited.

  Obviously, Romero likes me. He’s attracted to me. We want each other.

  That doesn’t mean anything more is going to come of this.

  He’s so much older, and a highly educated professional. I’m a farmer with a high school education and hardly any experience of life outside our town. No matter the attraction between us, we’re not exactly a match.

  My foolish heart may want to get carried away, but I can’t let it. I have no doubt that Romero can show me a fantastic time in bed, and that he’ll be a gentlemen about ending things when we get to that point. Anything else is a pipe dream.

  “Jade?” Lando says.

  I shake off my mental cobwebs, my face heating. I’ve completely lost track of the conversation. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Turnbull has never been to the farm?”

  Forcing my mind back on track, I say, “Not that we know of. Not by invitation, certainly. We’re there almost all the time and we’ve never seen him.”

  “He’s either been surveilling the property,” Romero says, “or he hired someone to do it.”

  He puts another chair next to mine, sits down, and leans toward his brother, talking intently. I catch his scent, clean and masculine, a hint of something spicy and his own luscious man smell. I savor his nearness, the line of his jaw, the rich silk of his hair, for several seconds before it hits me that I’m mooning over him in front of everyone.

  My eyes dart to Lando. His are smiling. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll get this typed up and we’ll track Turnbull down and serve it.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “It’ll take effect immediately? And cover all forms of contact?”

  “Yes and yes. He’ll be prohibited from physically approaching you as well as contacting you by any electronic means, including phone calls and emails. And any other form of communication, in case he tries to get creative.”

  “Great. Thank you so much.”

  Lando hesitates, then says, “Has he indicated any kind of … personal interest?”

  “Personal … in … you mean interested in me?” I shudder. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

  “Just wondering, because--” he glances at Romero-- “this kind of behavior is usually what we see in stalker cases.”

  “Maybe,” his brother says grimly, “you can check to see if Mr. Turnbull has any history of complaints being filed.” That little thrill goes through me again. I’ve never felt like I wanted, or needed, a man’s protection before, but from Romero it’s … hot.

  “Count on it,” Lando assures him. There’s a commotion behind us, and I turn to see that Kara has arrived. At least, I assume it’s her. She looks like an Adamo, and she’s dressed in a killer suit. Every man in the place, except her cousins, is watching her cross the room with ill-concealed lust.

  When she reaches us, I see she’s closer to my age than Romero’s. She gives me a dazzling smile and shakes my hand. “Sorry I’m late; I was in court.”

  Five minutes later, I’ve made an appointment with her for Monday and we’re ready to leave. Lando offers me his hand. “I’ll let Kara know how things go after we serve the restraining order.”

  His gaze goes over my shoulder, to where my sisters are waiting. Quinn gets a nod, friendly and professional, nothing more. Bree gets another one of those slow, smoldering smiles. “Thanks for the cookies.”

  He sounds like he’s talking about something a lot naughtier than baked goods. Bree matches his tone with a sultry smile of her own. “Anytime.”

  I try to ignore my pang of misgiving. Quinn’s always been the introspective one, and Bree the fearless one. I just hope she’s not going to get her heart broken. That blond detective was obnoxious, but his words about loving and leaving are stuck in my head.

  As we head downstairs, I watch Romero move and bite my lip at the warmth tingling through my core. No matter what happens between us, I’m going to be smart. I’ll keep a guard on my emotions.

  I won’t fall in love.

  6

  The Main Event

  Nobody says much on the drive back to the farm. Jade seems lost in thought, and her sisters are uncharacteristically quiet. As for me, I’m wondering what’s gotten into me, though part of me already knows.

  I like using my brain, but I’ve never been averse to the physical. On the other hand, I’ve always been the type to think before I act. No woman’s ever led me around by my cock.

  Jade isn’t trying to do that, though. The connection I feel with her happened as soon as we met, without any effort on her part. It’s overwhelmingly sexual — I want to fuck her brains
out for the next decade or so — but I can’t take this too casually.

  She’s young, and while our town isn’t tiny, neither is it a bustling metropolis. With women my own age, I trust that they know how to handle themselves and deal with gossip. Jade’s smart, but she’s not exactly worldly.

  However long this lasts, I need to make sure she’s okay when it ends.

  When we reach the house, Brianna and Quinn vanish upstairs after a quick goodbye, no doubt gearing up for an in-depth analysis of what happened at the station. Jade goes into the parlor and starts cleaning up the drinks and food. I help her load the tray, then take it from her to carry into the kitchen, earning me a smile that sharpens my hunger for her.

  When she starts washing our glasses in the sink, I look around the kitchen and see that there’s no dishwasher. The flooring and tile are old, as are the stove and the fridge. “How big is your farm?”

  “Small. What most people would call a hobby farm. We grow enough to feed ourselves and the animals, and sell some hay. The cows and goats we milked to make artisan cheese and curds and ice cream, and we sold those along with baked goods at the farmers’ market. And we have a few chickens, for eggs, and some sheep; we sold their wool along with scarves, caps, sweaters, stuff like that.”

  “You keep saying ‘sold’ in the past tense.”

  “After Dad died—” she presses her lips together until her emotions are under control. “We fell apart for a couple of weeks. We managed to do the bare minimum for ourselves and the animals, but we missed the start of the farmers’ market, and they sold our booth space to someone else even though we’d paid it in advance.”

  I make a mental note to find out who the hell runs the farmers’ market and have a word. “What did the bank say when you asked them to restructure the loan?”

  “They were polite, sympathetic, but …” She hitches a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Business is business. We’ve been making the payments out of the insurance money, but it’s almost gone.”