Alonzo nodded. “This is the only place he’s quiet. He’s gotten crazy lately. I let him out every night and run him until we’re both exhausted, but it doesn’t seem to get any better. I figured, sooner or later, I was going to have to . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. He would rather be dead than to fulfill the legacy of his father.

“You’re certain it’s her? She soothes him?”

“It’s Evangeline. She does the same thing for me. She’s quiet. Calm. Watch how she is with everyone, it’s genuine, that peace she has. She knows who she is and what she wants. She doesn’t get ruffled over anything. I’ve seen her handle difficult customers. They end up smiling and go away happy. She’s just peaceful to be around and for someone like me, someone living in hell, that’s a gift.”

Timur got up, shoving his chair back, and stalked over to the counter without a word. He stood waiting for his turn, his entire focus on the woman behind the counter. Alonzo didn’t like it, but not only was Timur his brother, he was his bodyguard. Anything unusual in Alonzo’s world had to be checked out. He understood that, but he didn’t have to like it.

Evangeline looked up, saw the look on Timur’s face and glanced at Alonzo. His eyes met hers. He stared at her, trying to feel nothing. Knowing she thought he didn’t feel a single emotion, and he hadn’t—until he’d walked into the bakery all those months ago and met her. Hurt flashed in her eyes for a brief moment and then she turned her entire attention on Timur.

Her smile. The way she tipped her head slightly to the side and tendrils of her thick, glossy hair curled around her face giving her a sexy, take-me-to-bed kind of look. Alonzo wanted to pound his brother into the ground.

“What can I get for you?”

Her voice. Sin and sex. Alonzo tried not to listen. Tried not to hear or look as his brother ordered and she moved from the counter to the espresso machine to get Timur’s drink for him. He couldn’t help but watch the sway of her hips. She was wearing soft blue jeans. Nothing special, but they cupped her ass in a way that made his palms itch. He needed to run his hands possessively over her curves. Claim them. She belonged to him, not his brother and not any other male walking into the bakery. She half turned toward Timur when he told her what he wanted from the display case. The movement pulled the thin material of her black-and-white sweater across her full breasts. There was no hiding the fact that she had curves, the kind a man wanted to feel when he took her to bed. Soft. Inviting. All the fuck his.