Mil was still talking to Nixon. Correction, Nixon was talking to her, and she was trying her best not to punch him. At least that’s what I was getting from their freaky body language.

“She hates me, you know,” I said aloud.

Trace followed the direction of my gaze and snorted. “You’re an idiot.”

“Huh?” I flipped around in my chair. “Didn’t we just have this really special talk? Nice moment? Water under the bridge?”

“Right.” Trace smacked me on the shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you’re not still an idiot. That girl,” Trace pointed, “is head over heels in love with you. She’s just afraid.”

“And you get that? What? From her predatory glance in my direction every few seconds?”

“Kiss her.”

“I have,” I said defensively.

“Not like that, Chase.”

“I don’t know what you—”

“Not out of anger.” Trace sighed optimistically. “Kiss her because you want to.”

“And if she punches me in the face?”

Trace pulled out a magazine and shrugged. “Then make sure she gets the left side so your bruises match.”

“Wow. In another life you could have been a marriage counselor.”

Trace laughed just as Nixon walked up. “You guys good? Because if you aren’t, I’m going to freaking lose my head.”

“We’re good.” I nodded, still a little pissed at Nixon’s attitude toward Mil. I got it. He was trying to make her strong by tearing her down, making her weakness nonexistent. But still, she was my wife. I didn’t have to like his methods.

“Mil needs you, Chase.” Nixon gave a curt nod and plopped down next to Trace.

“Does Chase need a shield or body armor before he goes into enemy territory?” This from Trace.

“Nah, just protect your balls. You should be fine.” Nixon chuckled and planted a kiss on Trace’s lips.

“Bastard.” I walked off toward Mil and cringed when she directed her glare at me. I chanted Trace’s words in my head, just kiss her, kiss her, kiss her like — I stopped in my tracks. A few guys were trying to get her attention. Oh, hell no.

I lunged for Mil’s arm, pulled her against my body, and crashed my mouth onto hers, all before she could even gasp for breath.

She sucked in my every exhale — like I was her lifeline. My mouth worked against hers, tenderly nipping at her lips. My hands dove into her silky hair. I’d always loved that hair, but it was like my mouth was jealous of my hands and vice versa. I broke the kiss and moved my lips to her neck. A curtain of hair fell across my face; it may as well have been velvet.

“Chase—”

“Stop talking.” My mouth found hers again, and I was lost. Damn it. Trace had been right. I allowed myself the small opportunity to forget about everything around me and memorize her.

“Chase—”

“Not now, Mil.” I growled against her mouth.

“I think,” Nixon’s irritating voice sounded behind me, “what your wife is trying to tell you is that it’s time to board the plane.”

I broke away from her, my body trembling from adrenaline.

“Good show.” Nixon laughed and walked off.

I, however, could not walk.

I stared at Mil. She stared right back.

“Why’d you kiss me?”

It took me a few seconds to find my voice. “You’re my wife.”

“Not good enough.” She crossed her arms. “I refuse to be kissed, even by my husband, when it’s out of jealousy.” She nodded to the guys still checking her out.

If only I had my gun… “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t think, I know.” Mil rolled her eyes and tried to walk past me.

I grabbed her by the elbow and pushed her against the wall for a second time. “Let’s get one thing straight.” I nipped her lower lip. “I’ll kiss you as often and as much as I please. Not because I’m jealous, not because I’m a jackass who gets off by showing my manhood as much as possible…” I released her arm and kissed her nose and inhaled her scent, “…because let’s be honest, I don’t need to show off when I’m sure as shit that I’ll win.”

“Oh yeah?” she whispered. “Then why go to all the trouble?”

I cupped her face with my hands. “Because I wanted to.”

“Guys!” Tex called. “Let’s go.”

I released her and held out my hand. She squinted at it but took it anyway. We didn’t speak to one another the entire time we waited to get our tickets scanned.

But we also didn’t stop holding hands.

I counted it a victory.

Mil

My lips were still buzzing from Chase’s mouth. His kisses weren’t the same. I hadn’t noticed that yesterday. Maybe it was because his first kiss was so damn forceful I wanted to smack him across his perfectly chiseled face or erase his tattoos with a sharp knife.

His kisses used to be — exactly how you’d expect a horny young teenager to kiss. All mouth, all tongue, no tenderness, just plain raw sexuality.

Now? His mouth was crippling in the way it pulled down all my defenses. His tongue coaxing — everything about him was warm and inviting and, Lord help me, but so irresistible that had we not been in a public place I would have made a big giant fool out of myself.

I was playing with fire.

Chase was the flame.

And I had a sinking sensation that I was the solitary leaf in the hot sun just waiting to get scorched alive.

He was beginning to shield his emotions really well around Trace. I knew it must still be difficult, and I promised myself that my heart wasn’t involved, but every time they looked at one another I wanted to scream. She’d taken what wasn’t hers to take and had left me with the unwanted pieces.

I wanted to hate her.

But she was basically unhateable. It was like hating Tex. As much as you wanted to smack him around, every time he gave you that goofy grin, all was forgiven.

Collateral damage. Those two words echoed in my head over and over again. Chase had directed them toward the employee at the hotel, yet I couldn’t help but wonder if it fit for me too. Because I didn’t want to end up like that. The person who was destroyed by the real battle. The battle for Chase’s heart.

Hell. I didn’t even know how to fight for it.

I just knew that deep down, a part of me wanted to win.

“Is this seat taken?” a dark voice said to my right. I looked up and grinned.

“That depends. Who’s asking?”

“A striking old man with two knee replacements and a heart of gold,” Frank Alfero answered, taking the seat on my right. Frank was Trace’s grandfather and an all-around scary individual. He looked like the old guy on the Dos Equis commercials. Up until last year I’d never even seen the man, only heard of his bad blood with the Abandonato family.

Chase chuckled on the left and reached around me to shake Frank’s hand.

“It’s been awhile.”

“It’s been three weeks, Chase.” Frank gripped his hand. Funny, because a few months ago the families weren’t even talking, and now we were all going to Vegas together. Right. What’s wrong with that picture?

“How’s Luca?” Chase released Frank’s hand but was still peering around me.

“Luca,” came a heavily accented voice, “is just fine. Thanks for your inquisition, Mr. Winter.”

“Ah, speak of the devil.” Chase swore.

“Funny, I thought he spoke of me,” Luca joked. Though all of us, Nixon mainly, knew it wasn’t funny. The man didn’t even have fingerprints, and I bet a million dollars no dental files would be found on him either. He had salt and pepper hair that was slicked back at all times. He only wore Italian-made clothing — that fit him to perfection. If I had to guess I’d say he was around forty-nine or fifty, but he was aging extremely well, you know especially considering he was one of the most hated bosses in America.

I shifted in my seat and pretended to look at my magazine as Luca took the seat behind us next to Tex and Mo. The last thing I wanted was to gain his attention again. He’d already threatened me. As if I needed more reminding of what my job was and what would happen to me if I failed to perform.