The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(138)

Gus was at his food dish, face stuck in it. Even with his attention on his food, he sensed Benny walking in and his tail started wagging, even if his face didn’t come out of the bowl.

They’d walked Gus, come back, he ate her on the couch, then f**ked her there. They took a shower, then he’d thrown on some clothes and went over to Mrs. Zambino’s to get Frankie’s stuff while she fed Gus. He did this because he didn’t want her out of his house. He didn’t want her dressed in anything but one of her nighties or one of his tees, and it was his birthday so Frankie gave him what he wanted.

Moving toward her, Benny decided he wanted something more so he took it, sliding a hand from her hip, around, down, and in. Under his tee, skin to skin, he glided it up her belly, her ribs, and cupped her breast.

She leaned back and pressed her head to his jaw, saying, “Although the challenge has been thrown, and I think I can best it, not sure how your cake will taste if I make it, you playin’ with me.”

“It’s shit, we got chocolate sauce,” he replied and heard her soft laugh.

He loved that laugh. He loved her in his tee in his kitchen making his birthday cake. He loved her in his kitchen doing anything.

He just loved Francesca Concetti.

She turned her head and tipped it back until she caught his eyes, but hers weren’t filled with humor.

They were filled with worry.

What the f**k?

“I know you were upset when I told you I couldn’t come. But you gave me a good surprise. I wanted to give you one too. It sucked to upset you, but—”

That was the f**k. She was worried she’d upset him.

He shut her up by dropping his head and brushing his lips against hers before he lifted away and whispered on a squeeze of her tit, “Baby, am I complaining?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Love my people, love spending time with them, but you in that nightie waiting in my bed wet for me was the best surprise you could give me.”

“Good,” she said softly, then went on, “I wanted to stay the weekend, but there’s a lunch meeting tomorrow I can’t miss. Though, I can drive up after work so I can be at the family celebration Saturday night.”

He grinned at her. “I’ll take it.”

She grinned back and turned to her bowl. Ben slid his hand from her tit, engaged his other one, and wrapped both arms around her belly under his tee.

“How’d you get here from the airport?” he asked.

“Mrs. Zambino picked me up,” she answered. “But I have an airport pickup arranged in the morning so you don’t have to get up ungodly early to take me.”

“Cancel it.”

She twisted her neck to look at him. “Ben, I have to leave here at 4:30.”

“Cancel it, Frankie.”

She held his eyes a beat, saw in them that there was no use prolonging the discussion, nodded, and looked back down to what she was doing.

“Tomorrow, probably should haul my ass over there and see if Mrs. Zambino needs anything done on her house. Payback for her helpin’ you out.”

“That’d be a cool thing to do,” she said, measuring flour.

“Though, she probably doesn’t, seein’ as she doesn’t hesitate to haul her ass over here and ask me to fix shit when she does.”

Again she twisted her neck and looked at him. “She does?”

“Yep.”

“Do you do it?”

His brows drew together at what he thought was an asinine question. “Of course.”

Her face got soft and she whispered, “Pure Benny.”

“Just bein’ a good neighbor,” he pointed out.

“Just bein’ a good man,” she returned and her words and the look in her eyes that was part marvel, like she couldn’t quite believe he was real, part pride, and a lot of love made his arms give her an involuntary squeeze.

“Like it when you look at me that way,” he murmured.

“Get used to it,” she replied.

Fuck.

Frankie.

“Love you, baby,” he whispered.

“Love you back, Benny,” she said quietly.

He wanted to let that moment last. He wanted more for her to be done with the cake so she could give him another nightie. But she wasn’t done with the cake, she wanted to give him that, had gone out of her way to plan it, so he needed to let her give him that.

So he took them out of the moment by asking, “What kinda cake you bakin’ me?”

“Chocolate maraschino cherry,” she answered, and his chin jerked.

His favorite, bar none.

And no one had made it for him but his mother.

“Ma give you that recipe?”

“Yep.”

That wasn’t a surprise, it was a shock. Theresa Bianchi was like her husband (and then some) when it came to her cooking. Her secret family recipes were hers. She made them for the restaurant, but she didn’t share how to make them with anyone, even family.

So he muttered, “Holy f**k.”

“I know,” she turned back to the counter. “She gave it right up, no begging, no bribery, no markers owed. Freaked me out.”

Benny liked what this said.

Years ago, Connie had asked for that same recipe and his ma hadn’t given it up. It disappointed Connie not to be able to give him what he liked on his birthday, direct from her, not getting it from his ma. But Connie was the kind of woman who didn’t put up a fight. She hid her disappointment and never asked again.