High Voltage (Ramsey Security #3)

“Do I have any other qualities?” I ask, stroking her hand.

“You’re very handsome, so there’s that.”

“Anything else?”

“You’re brave. Stupidly so.”

“True. Is that it?”

“You handle yourself well. You handle me well too.”

“All spot on observations.”

“You’re funny,” she says, and I see her breaking through the fear. “You’re a great dancer.”

“I can’t deny any of that,” I whisper, kissing her temple.

“You make me happy even when I’m not happy. I also feel safe when we’re in danger. I guess you make me stupid.”

“The best kind of love will make you dumber than shit. I guess that bodes well for us, huh?”

Minka smiles at me. “I can kinda picture loving you for a long time. That’s something, right?”

“Oh, yeah.”

My lips find hers, and Minka hesitates. We’ve moved way beyond easy sex to uncharted territory. Life and death are simple. Love and romance are scary shit.

“I’m not Italian,” she blurts out after I try to deepen the kiss.

“I know that. What are you ethnic-wise?”

“American.”

Narrowing my eyes, I study her. “Spanish maybe?”

“What does it matter?”

“Why don’t you want to tell me?”

Minka glances around in a grumpy way. “You’ll judge.”

“I promise I’ll be a good boy.”

Closing her eyes, Minka struggles between the urge to tell me and the need to hide her deep dark family secret.

“Promise?” she asks, opening her eyes. “I will not be happy if you make jokes.”

Frowning now, I cross my arms. “What the hell could you be? A Neanderthal?”

While I snicker at the thought, Minka glares at me. “Promise.”

“I swear on the world’s spaghetti supply.”

“My family is Romani.”

Staring into her gorgeous eyes, I really, really don’t want to fucking laugh. I do laugh, though.

“Asshole,” she mutters.

“You’re gypsies? And your mom is a con artist?”

“Yes, and I’m a criminal too, but most Romani are good people. My sister and brother are normal people. Most Romani are normal. Every group has a few bad seeds.”

“Ah, don’t call yourself a bad seed.”

“Stop laughing.”

“I wish I could.”

Minka elbows me, but I only wrap her in my arms and laugh against her neck.

“It’s not funny.”

“You and Mommy sure fit the Romani stereotype.”

“Yes, a stereotype. We’re not the norm.”

“I know, Apples,” I say, kissing her throat. “And most Italians aren’t in the mob. That’s why it’s so funny. You and I are the poster children for ethnic stereotypes.”

Minka grudgingly smiles. “I’m overly sensitive, I guess, but growing up, kids would watch their money when we came over to play.”

“But you didn’t steal from them, did you?”

“No, but my mom did when they came over to play.”

The last thing Minka needs is for me to laugh again. Unfortunately, that’s what she gets.

“I’m sorry, but your mom sounds like a real schmuck.”

“She thought people with jobs were schmucks.”

“Sorry,” I say again, kissing her neck. “Romani or not, you’re a quality broad. I’m gonna make that down payment on your heart now.”

Minka slides her fingers into my hair and holds me still. “Why does it have to be so fast?”

“I’ve been waiting since we met months ago. So have you.”

“Not really.”

“Why do you lie so bad when you talk to me? I’ll tell you why. I’m the man holding your heart. You look at me and must submit.”

“Eat shit.”

Her fingers are still wrapped tightly in my hair when Minka kisses me. Our tongues struggle for dominance. When I win, she bites gently at my flesh.

“You’re so damn stubborn,” I mutter, pulling my lips away.

“If you have a problem with me, walk away.”

My hands cup her ass, and I give those cheeks a hard squeeze. “You need to stop challenging me to do shit you don’t want done.”

“Probably. I’m scared, though.”

“I know. I like your fear. It’s sexy.”

“I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Oh, yeah, but not today.”

When Minka smiles at me, the tension in her expression washes away. “No, not today.”

“So let’s look for something shiny.”

Leaving the SUV, Minka takes my arm and leans into me. We walk into the mall at eight on a Tuesday evening. With the place nearly empty, we don’t dodge grumpy toddlers or bitchy teenagers.

The man at the jewelry store looks up from his phone and stares in shock at seeing customers.

“I’m looking for an engagement ring,” I tell him.

“Price point?”

“Let’s start at the top and work our way down until we find what she wants.”

The clerk studies me, unsure if I’m fucking with him. I guess I pass his test because he starts checking different rings to show us.

“How much are engagement rings?” Minka asks.

“My cousin spent around fifteen grand, but he got a family deal.”