Fitzgerald Sagas, 2
Ethan Fitzgerald finds himself drawn back home to choose between joining his father in the Chicago Outfit or building a political legacy. Amid the violence of a mafia war, he finds one good thing: Brenna Castle. His little sister’s best friend should be off-limits but their attraction burns bright enough to hide from the problems tearing his family apart. In fact, Brenna might be worth staying for.
Then pictures of the lame-duck state senator and his college-student girlfriend splash across the city’s gossip pages in high-def just as news that Ethan’s little sister has ditched her arranged mafia wedding threatens to start a new war.
Ethan’s father forges a new marriage alliance. For Ethan. And his bride? Brenna. Who wants nothing to do with this marriage, or the Outfit. Ethan must choose again: crush the girl he loves, or lose her forever.
Be Warned: bondage, sex toys
Excerpt:
A floorboard creaked beneath him just as a shadow emerged ahead. His hand darted out, catching a petite figure by the shoulder before they crashed into one another. “Shit,” he hissed, as he got a good look at the intruder. “Sorry…”
“Um.” Big emerald eyes blinked up at him, framed by thick lashes. Long, carelessly tumbled hair the color of caramel framed a pixie-like face. One of Hannah’s old Tinkerbell sketches came to life? What the fuck?
“Are you all right?” He stepped back, trying in vain to remember where he’d seen her before.
“Oh, Ethan. Hey.” She shifted on her socked feet, looking like a sleepover fantasy in pajama shorts and a slouchy tank that showed off an enticing lace strap at her shoulder. “Sorry. Yeah, I just got lost. I thought the back stairs were over here? I wanted to grab a snack, but Z’s out like a light.”
“Close. But the main’s easier from over…” His brows furrowed as something in her posture connected his memories. Well, this seals it. If there is a God, he fucking hates me. “Brenna?” He shouldn’t have asked out loud. But the vague, blurry-edged Brenna in his memories looked so … young?
Because she is, dipshit. Young and beautiful. High cheekbones, lips meant to kiss…
“I didn’t recognize you, but I’m running short on sleep this week, so my brain’s not…” Not getting past that tank top. He coughed.
Brenna laughed—a cute, airy sound he wasn’t used to hearing in the family mausoleum. “I bet it’s the hair. I think it was still red on July Fourth?”
“Pink,” he recalled far too quickly, along with a flash of her in a purple bikini, swaying across the deck of his dad’s latest yacht with some lucky asshole from the twins’ usual menagerie. “So, Zara dragged you to pick out tablecloths and couldn’t even make sure you were fed?” The twins are almost eight years younger than me. She can’t be any older. Twenty-two? Please let her be above drinking age…
Principles. I’ve got fucking principles.
“Oh, we had dinner. I’m just hungry again. I think Z’s too nervous to snack.” Her smile faded. “Joey seems nice though. I get the … insta-love.”
“Do you?” Ethan always got the impression that Joseph De Lucca was a mouth-breathing moron. Maybe I’m biased. Zara deserves better than being a fucking Outfit poker chip. “The first wedding can be stressful. Come on. This way.” He led her through the lesser hallway to the back stairs.
“Thank you,” Brenna said, looking sheepish. “I can’t believe I still get lost here.”
“Happens to us all. Especially with sleep deprivation. And pot.” Because he caught a whiff of something under her patchouli-vanilla perfume. He stopped, waiting until they walked down the wide, polished steps together. Ethan gave his great-grandfather credit: even back rooms and servants’ chambers in the Fitzgerald house were built to be seen.
“Are you planning a second wedding for Zara already?” Brenna’s eyes shone. “I thought you were a one-match-forever type.”
Walked into that one. “More like the right match forever. As my new ex-wife can attest.”
Apparently, Brenna had no aptitude for poker. Her full lips parted, and her brows arched. “Oh. Gosh. I’m sorry. Breakups are the worst. Wedding rings can’t possibly help. I’m guessing.”
“I don’t know. Dad seems to have developed a knack for it. Kitchen’s this way,” he added, once they reached the bottom step. He led her past a pair of double doors and into a small breakfast room that Cathy had redecorated to a perplexing mix between too-white and why-is-it-so-fucking-bright? Another doorway led to the more peaceful cream and gray kitchen.
“How the heck did I miss something this gigantic?” Brenna sighed, tossing her hair. “Why don’t you guys build a damn app?”
“What did you have in mind for a snack?” Ethan unbuttoned the cuffs at his wrist and rolled his sleeves up above his forearms. Looked like he would be missing breakfast, so why not enjoy a midnight snack with a pretty girl? Thank Christ for small favors…
“Um. Just … some peanut butter and crackers, I’ll be happy.”
His eyes rolled. “Hell no. We can do better.”
“I like peanut butter!”
“Sit down. I’ll make something.”
- Series:
- /series-fitzgerald-sagas/
