Ren was tall, very tall. Taller than me, and I was tall for a woman.
And he had a fabulous body. Lean hips that he knew how to use (big time). Broad shoulders, the power of which he also put to good use (in a variety of delicious ways). Sleek, defined muscles all over that I knew he put a lot of work into in a way he got off on (and I did too, but for a different reason).
But his way wasn’t so he would look exceptionally hot (which he did). It was having time to be in his head and shut everything else out, be centered, get focused, be healthy. It was, like a lot of things about Ren, righteous.
And last, he had unbelievable abs and hip muscles, which I thought should be photographed and put in a museum. They were so perfect everybody should get the chance to see.
He also had thick dark hair that felt good just normally, but it felt awesome when your fingers were buried in it when his tongue was buried in your mouth (or elsewhere on your body).
All that was fabulous, but there were three things that really did it for me with Ren.
His eyes were this beautiful espresso color, so rich and deep, if you weren’t careful, you could lose yourself in them in a way you never wanted to be found.
And he was confident. Not arrogant. It wasn’t about swagger. Confident. He just knew what his body and mind could do, he knew what he liked, what he wanted and he was comfortable with all that. It oozed off him in the way cool oozed off people who were cool. And Ren was just that: cool. He was like a rock star without the guitar and in a suit. It was phenomenal.
And last, he dressed really well. For work, fabulous suits that were tailored for him. Outside of work, he could do jeans and even tees, and he wore them well, but usually he put on a shirt or a sweater (if it was cold) with his jeans and he wore those way better.
But with Ren it wasn’t about the clothes. It was about the man.
And Ren Zano was all man.
Unfortunately, I liked men who were all man.
I also had a weakness for men in suits.
I just didn’t like bossy, annoying and in my face.
And, of course, someone who would eventually break my heart, even though I figured he genuinely didn’t know he was going to eventually do it.
But I knew he would.
His voice came at me, smooth and deep, but also soft and sweet.
“Ally, baby, last night proved we have to have this out, once and for all,”
Shit.
He was using his sweet voice. That always did a number on me. I knew this because, when he switched to it during a fight, this would be around the time I’d jump him.
I opened my eyes. “There’s nothing to have out.”
His eyebrows shot up (he had great eyebrows too, by the way).
“Have you lost your mind?”
Ren asked this a lot.
“No,” I replied.
And this was always my answer.
His hand, still in my belly, pressed lightly as his face dipped closer. “Babe, straight up, last night you fucked up. You’ve fucked up before, but last night, you totally fucked up. It’ll take me, Uncle Vito, your brothers, both of them, Marcus and pretty much every-fuckin’-body to cover your ass for the shit you pulled last night.”
Thus commenced the me-getting-pissed portion of The Talk, which usually led to the me-yelling portion of The Talk, and that moved into the Ren-yelling portion of The Talk, which tended to culminate in the me-stomping-out-portion of our talk (or, alternately, us having a hot, great, fast quickie, then I’d get dressed and stomp out).
“I saved Faye’s life last night,” I reminded him curtly.
“You got on some serious as shit radar last night,” he returned.
“I got them what they wanted.” I kept sharing recent memories.
“You got on radar,” he semi-repeated. “You do not want a single one of those men to know you exist. You really don’t want them to know you got access and skills. You dabble in this shit, Ally. It isn’t your life. It’s a pastime. You do not have a solid network. You do not have back up. You do not have experience. So far, all you’ve got is a shitload of luck and persistence. The first eventually is gonna run out. The second is gonna make it run out and get you into trouble.”
I didn’t hear a lot of what he said since I was stuck on a word he used close to the beginning.
Dabble.
“Dabble?” I whispered warningly.
I knew he caught my warning because we’d managed, even as fuck buddies (according to me), to spend a lot of time together the last year, so he could read me.
I also knew he caught my warning because he threw one of his long, heavy, muscled legs over mine and he got even closer.
“Ally—”
“Dabble?” My voice had risen as my eyes had narrowed.
“Do you get paid for this shit?” he asked.
