Page 140 of Jig's Last Dance

His careful consideration makes me smile and I grab his hand. “How? How did you get past Sal?”

Chuckling, he shakes his head, but I see the faint flush on his cheeks. It’s adorable, and I hide my amusement, rasping, “What?”

“Well, I called in a favor.”

“Huh? What kind of favor?”

His bright eyes meet mine, and he brushes my hair back from my face. With a silent sigh, I lean into the caress, eager for his touch.

“You know McCafferty is my godfather?”

“Oh?” I guess Jig and I have more in common than I thought. We’re both godchildren of monsters.

Nodding, he says, “When I was born, he gave me a gift. One thing. Whatever I wanted.”

“And?”

Shrugging, he meets my stare, and I shiver at the intensity as he says, “I told him I wanted you.”

My jaw drops. “Me? Jig! You—”

Covering my mouth, he smirks when I narrow my eyes and says, “I want you.”

The ferocity of his tone brings tears to my eyes, and when I blink, he brushes them away.

“Jig,” I breathe.

“Sunshine,” he says, his mouth tilting in a devastating smile.

Wrapping my arms around him, I kiss him with my own ferocity, and he eagerly complies. The connection isn’t tender but full of need and hope and love, and only when we’re both breathless does he pull away.

“Alice,” he whispers, kissing my forehead, “you should rest.”

I’d like to take the coward’s way out and do just that, but I have to see this through. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.

So, with a wan smile, I say, “I have something to tell you.”

His brows drop, and he leans away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does, Jig—”

“I don’t care. I only care about this. You and me,” he says fiercely, and searching his gaze, I nod.

Maybe it doesn’t matter, but the burn in my chest tells me I can’t keep this from him forever. I just hope he has mercy for my brother.

But clearly, now is not the time.

“Okay,” I say, “but what about Castinetti? He was after a girl. He thinks my dad had her.”

When Jig stiffens and looks away, my heart sinks. Is this the way it’s always going to be? If so, we’re doomed because there are way too many painful topics to avoid.

“Jig?” I ask, and his gaze softens.

“A girl?”

Relieved at his even tone, I say, “Yes. But I don’t know where she is. I only have what John gave me.”

“Which is what?” he growls, and I roll my eyes. It’s a little late to worry about my meeting up with John.