And I had a feeling Benny was getting ideas.

Cindy started wheeling me toward the exit doors and she did this still talking.

“So the girls, we’ve been talkin’ about that since he brought you in covered in your blood. Now, I didn’t see that part, but it’s made the rounds big time. Hot guy. Hot girl. GSW. Blood. Drama. Resulting television crews. That happens.”

I was sure it did.

But it was time to put a stop to this.

“He’s my dead boyfriend’s brother.”

“Ah,” she uttered knowingly, still wheeling. Her voice had gone from no-nonsense nosy to soft with nurse concern when she went on. “Sorry to hear about your loss, hon. When’d he die?”

“Seven years ago.”

She stopped wheeling.

“Uh…what?”

I twisted my neck to look up at her to see her staring down at me.

“Vinnie died seven years ago.”

“And you’re fakin’ sleepin’ when his hottie brother comes a-callin’ because of why?”

“Because Benny, the hottie brother, wants to talk,” I told her.

“About what?” she asked.

I had no clue.

But with the way he traced my lower lip with his thumb when he told me we were going to talk. With the way he picked me up off the forest floor and sprinted to his SUV with me in his arms after I was shot. With the way he caught my pass years ago when I was drunk after Vinnie died and stupidly, crazily, sluttily threw myself at him…

Well, with all that, I was thinking all this attention wasn’t about remembrance of sisterly love, what with the lip-tracing and tongues-tangling parts being included.

“I don’t know,” I shared with Cindy.

Her brows shot up. “And you faked sleepin’ and didn’t find out?”

“Yep.”

Her head tipped to the side and she deduced, “’Cause no boy who looks like that comes to the hospital every day for a girl who looks like you ’cause he’s keepin’ an eye on his seven-years-dead brother’s girlfriend.”

Indication that Cindy not only had seen it all, but she understood it.

“Something like that,” I conceded.

“Everything like that,” she returned.

She was right, but I didn’t confirm that fact.

“You’re not into him?” she asked, and I felt my eyes get wide.

“He’s Benny,” I said in response, figuring that said it all.

“He sure is,” she agreed, knowing it said it all because she’d seen him, repeatedly (though, once would do it).

“But he’s my dead boyfriend’s brother.”

“Girl,” she started, wheeling me toward the doors again, “God doesn’t care who you let in there, just as long as the feelin’s are honest when you let him in.”

I looked to my bag on my knees. “It’s my understanding God does care who you let in there.”

“Sure enough,” she replied. “But that’s not the there I’m talkin’ about. The there I’m talkin’ about is your heart.”

I was not going to get into this with my soon-to-be-ex nurse while she wheeled me to the taxi that would take me home after my hospital stay, so I pressed my lips together again.

I unpressed them when I felt her stutter step behind me and the wheelchair jerked slightly with her movement.

I also looked up when this happened.

And what I saw was Benny Bianchi in a white t-shirt that hugged his muscular torso in a way that made you jealous of that tee. He also had on faded jeans that fit loose in a way that only hinted at the power in those long legs (not to mention the power behind that package), making you want to get acquainted with both…intimately. He was leaning against his Explorer right outside the doors.

He had his arms crossed on his chest and shades over his dark brown eyes, but I knew those eyes were on me.

He was waiting on me.

Not parked illegally outside a hospital to come for a visit.

Waiting on me to be released.

“Uh…Cindy,” I muttered, eyes glued to Ben. “Did someone at the nurse’s station share with Benny when I’d be released?”

“He may have made that inquiry,” she evaded.

“And was it answered?” I asked, though the evidence it was was pushing away from his Explorer. It was then I knew why Cindy was wheeling me to the doors and not a nurse’s assistant or an orderly. She didn’t want to miss this or miss reporting back to the girls.

“Mm,” Cindy mumbled her evasion this time.

I couldn’t get pissed at this. Not because it wasn’t worthy of being pissed at, but because Benny was moving in our direction, we were moving in his, and all my attention was taken in concentrating on watching him move.

He moved well. He looked good. He was tall. He worked on his body and this work was extremely successful. He had a lot of thick, messy black hair. And he had a face that was movie star handsome in a way that, without a doubt, launched a million wedding fantasies, even from women who just caught a glimpse of him walking down the street.

My eyes remained locked on him as the doors swished open, and we trundled through at the exact same time Benny arrived at our location.

I opened my mouth to say something but didn’t get a word out, because Ben grabbed my bag from my lap and thrust it Cindy’s way with a murmured, “Could you hold that, darlin’?”

Cindy took it and I again opened my mouth to say something and, again, didn’t get a word out because Ben bent, shoved a hand under my knees, one around my waist, and lifted me into his arms.

But gently.

There was pain, but it was minimal. Mostly because it came with his strength and warmth and the smell of his aftershave.

Shit!

I said something then. It was loud, but it was lame.

And what it was was, “Ben!”

He didn’t even look at me. He turned to Cindy and said, “I’ll take that now.” She must have given my bag to him because he immediately went on. “Thanks, beautiful. You’ve been great. Got it from here.”

After delivering that, he turned and started walking to his SUV.

I glared around his shoulder at Cindy.

Cindy stood with hands on the handles of the wheelchair and grinned at me.

“I’m canceling that big bouquet of flowers and three-layers-deep box of Fannie May I ordered for the nurse’s station!” I yelled.

She pulled her phone out of her scrubs, lifted it, and I knew she took a picture while Benny opened the back door to his SUV in order to toss my bag in, because she called, “That’s okay. I’ll share this shot with the girls.” She looked from her phone to me. “This’ll be all the thanks we need.”

I had more to say to my now-ex-nurse Cindy, but I lost sight of her and couldn’t retort when Benny deposited me (gently, God!) into the front passenger seat.

I turned my glare to him.

“You aren’t taking me home,” I declared.

“You’re right. I’m not,” he replied, attention on the seatbelt.

He wasn’t?

“I am in your truck, Ben,” I pointed out.

His eyes came to mine, and I was glad he had his shades on because he had beautiful eyes. Amazing. A rich dark brown that could dance with laughter and warm with feeling, both having the capacity to melt your heart.

Unfortunately, his eyes also looked good hidden behind his silver wire-rimmed shades.

“I’m not takin’ you home. I’m takin’ you to my home,” he clarified.

I blinked. I stared. I totally forgot about how cool his sunglasses looked.

Then I lost my mind.

“I’m not goin’ to your house!” I shouted.

“Yeah, you are,” he replied, attention back to the seatbelt he was pulling around me, shoulder strap yanked way out to clear my head.

This was thoughtful. I didn’t need that strap pressing against my body. It would kill.

I ignored his thoughtfulness and declared, “I’m goin’ to my house.”

“Nope. You aren’t.”

“I ordered a taxi,” I told him.

“Found him. Gave him a twenty. Sent him on his way.”

He was leaning in to latch the seatbelt, and since he was that close, I got a good whiff of his aftershave. I also got a good view of the back of his head with his thick, black, wavy hair.

It was hair you’d run your fingers through just because. Any occasion granted you, you’d take it.

If you were standing close and talking.

If you were lying around, tangled up together, watching TV.

If you were kissing.

I closed my eyes.

God really, really hated me.

I opened my eyes. “You can’t send the taxi away. I gave them my credit card. They’re gonna charge me anyway.”

I heard the belt click and he adjusted his position so he was facing me. He was still leaning into the cab of the truck. He was still close. And I could still smell his aftershave.

It was spicy.

Yes, God hated me.

“I’ll reimburse you,” he said.

“Benny, this is not cool,” I snapped. “I’ve just been shot. I don’t need this.”

“You were shot a week and a half ago, babe. And if you felt shit, you wouldn’t be able to mouth off.”

I clamped my mouth shut.

Ben grinned.

My clit pulsed.

Yes. God so totally hated me. He was punishing me. Doing it on earth before He sent me to the fiery depths of hell.

Ben moved out of the cab and slammed my door.

It was at this point that I could make a break for it. Then again, I didn’t think the awkward, painful strolls I’d been taking around the hospital corridors had prepared me to make a desperate dash from lean, fit Benito Bianchi. Hell, if I was in perfect shape, I still couldn’t execute a desperate dash from Benny Bianchi.

So I didn’t make a desperate dash. I glared at him through the windshield as he rounded the hood of his Explorer, and I kept glaring at him as he pulled his long body into the driver’s seat. Committed to this act, I continued to do it as he switched on the ignition and guided the truck away from the curb.

It was then I noticed he didn’t put on his seatbelt.

“It’s law to wear your seatbelt in Illinois, Benny,” I shared snippily.

He didn’t glance at me, kept negotiating the rounding drive out of the hospital, but reached for his seatbelt and clicked it in place.

Well, hell. He took direction. Even snippy direction.

I didn’t need to know that either.

He pulled out onto the street.

“Can you explain why you’re kidnapping me?” I requested to know.

“Kidnapping you?” he asked the road.

“I am in your truck against my volition,” I pointed out.

“Right.” He grinned. I saw it and my mouth went dry. “Then I guess I’m kidnapping you,” he finished good-naturedly.

It was unfortunate that it was highly likely I’d rip my gunshot wound open if I attempted to scratch his eyes out. Furthermore, I didn’t want to survive genuinely getting kidnapped by a madman, running through a forest, ending up shot, only to get in a car accident mere minutes after being released from the hospital.

Therefore, I decided not to do that and instead kept questioning.

“Now that we have that down, can you explain why?”

“’Cause you’re not gonna convalesce under the watchful eye of a mob kingpin.”

“I was heading home, Ben,” I shared.

“And you don’t think Sal wouldn’t have his ass, Gina’s, and every Chicago mob wife and girlfriend up in your shit, catering to your every whim?” he returned. “You’re family and you took a bullet for family. He was your godfather. Now he’s your fairy godfather.”

Pure Benny.

“I wouldn’t let Sal hear you refer to him as my fairy anything,” I advised.

“I don’t give a fuck what Sal hears me say about him.”

It was not surprising that the Bianchis, who owned a family pizzeria and had nothing to do with the Cosa Nostra, weren’t all fired up when Vinnie Junior decided to cast his lot with his uncle Sal. They were less fired up about it when he got whacked during a war Sal found himself in.

There weren’t a lot of people who would disrespect a Mafia boss.

The Bianchis were the exception. And Benny, who loved his brother, loved his mother and father, sister, and other brother, hated to lose Vinnie Junior. He also hated to watch his family suffer that same loss. Therefore, he took that disrespect to extremes.

It scared the crap out of me.

If you knew Salvatore Giglia like I knew him, you would think he was the kindest-hearted man you’d ever met.

But he absolutely was not.

Therefore, my voice was lower when I noted, “You need to be careful about Sal, Ben.”