Black Opal by Sandra Cox Page B

where her red lacquered fingernails were leading and leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “You could have made a killing on the stage,” he said casually.
    “Can’t fool you for a minute, hey shug?”
    “No but for several very long seconds you did manage to distract me. Now spill it.”
    “Mr. Morelly, this conversation is over.” Sabina stood up. “Bella, are you ready?”
    Bella looked wistfully at her croissant then, heaving a martyred sigh, rose as well.
    He reached out and grabbed Sabina’s arm. The contact sent electric currents jolting through him. Was it chemistry or a reaction to the amulet?
    Heat pulsed through her arm beneath his hand but her eyes were as frigid as ice. “Mr. Morelly, get your hand off me.”
    Letting go, he pushed back his chair and stood up. “Listen, I’m on your side. I just want to help.”
    Her look both mocked and ridiculed. “You’re a gangster.”
    Something inside him shriveled. “I’m an attorney,” he replied evenly.
    “For the mob.”
    A hot rush of blood coursed through him and he beat back his escalating anger.
    “My practice is completely legitimate.”
    She gave an unladylike snort and threw down her white linen napkin. “You’re a gangster and an attorney. You might be legit but that certainly doesn’t mean you’re not as dirty as hell.”
    “Sugar,” Bella’s voice held a warning.
    Sabina whirled on her. “What?”
    “You could flail the skin off fish with that tongue.”
    “Thank you, Ms. Bella but it would take more than Ms. Comti’s ill-chosen words to hurt me,” Adam drawled. Liar.
    Sabina tossed up her head. “I can’t believe you’re sticking up for him. His uncle tried to kill you.”
    He pushed in his chair and bowed. “Ms. Bella, I wish you luck, you’re going to need it. He turned to Sabina. “To hell with you.”
    Adam turned on his heel and strode away. He went slamming out of the restaurant in a haze of rage. He literally saw red. He’d heard the expression before but never experienced it but damn he was experiencing it now.
    He’d never struck a woman in his entire life, well if you didn’t count the little miss who’d knocked him on his butt in the first grade. He’d gotten up and promptly popped her in the eye and had so disappointed his mother he’d never hit a girl again. But he’d come perilously close a moment ago. Maybe not to hitting her but to shaking her ’til her teeth rattled and she came to her senses.
    Striding toward the elevator he nearly knocked down the old gent he’d given directions to earlier.
    “Oof,” the old man said tottering on his unsteady feet.
    “Sorry.” Adam reached out to steady the old gent. Beneath his outdated, navy blue pin-striped shirt his arm felt almost doughy.
    The old man straightened as best he could and asked in his high quavering voice, “You look distressed. Are you all right, young man?”
    “I’m fine,” Adam said, still feeling a flush to his face as rage boiled right behind his eyes.
    “Woman trouble?” The senior citizen leaned on his cane, making him several inches shorter than Adam.
    “No trouble at all.” Adam stepped into the elevator and punched the button. Legs splayed, hands crossed over his lean stomach he gave a terse nod at the old man as the doors shut and the elevator glided upward.
    The elevator slid to a stop. He strode to his room, changed into his gym clothes then went to a gym a couple of blocks from the hotel and worked out on a punching bag. The impact of his fist against the bag vibrated up his arm again and again . I’m not hurt, she didn’t hurt me. It became a litany with each thrust, jab and fancy piece of footwork.
    His chest heaving and sweat dripping off him, he headed for the shower, and a change of clothes, calmer now. The woman’s entitled to her opinion .
    What rankled even more than the scathing tone she’d taken with him was how she’d referred to his uncle. “You work for the mob” in that sanctimonious,