Page 199

Smooth, Layla.

His eyes hold mine for one beat too long.

Then that wicked mouth curves.

“Good to know, Firecracker.”

He knows.

He fucking knows that rattled me.

Bastard.

Before I can recover, a woman barrels toward us.

“Mitchell!”

I blink.

She's somewhere in her sixties, maybe, with dark hair threaded liberally with silver and the kind of commanding presence that makes everyone nearby move automatically.

Mitchell smiles. Actually smiles.

“Mama Paola.”

Mama Paola?

She grabs his face with both hands and kisses one cheek, then the other.

“You stay away too long.”

“I was here three weeks ago.”

“Too long.”

Then she spots me. Her eyes sharpen.

Oh boy.

“And who is this?”

Mitchell's hand finds the small of my back.

“Layla Hawthorne.”

Mama Paola looks at me. Then at Mitchell's hand.

Then back at me. Her smile becomes enormous.

“Ah.”

Why does every woman who knows Mitchell say ah like that?

“Don't,” Mitchell warns.

“I say nothing.”

“You're thinking plenty.”