He nods at me in silent acknowledgement, but his handsome face does all the talking for him. The way his warm brown eyes possessively skim the curve of my legs, rake over the pale exposed skin of my ankle and lead down to the sexy high-heeled shoes he bought me. He looks at me like I belong to him.

I wish I did.

I wish he would tell me I look beautiful. I’m fairly certain it’s what he thinks, but he won’t say it.

That’s fine, I remind myself.

It’s not a date, I remind myself.

I still wish he would.

The drive to Bishop’s Landing takes quite some time, but the company is good, so I don’t mind. I watch the skyscrapers shrink as we drive away from the city. Lee grabs two glasses from the bar and pours some champagne.

Cracking a smile as he hands me one, I ask, “Do we need to pregame for this?”

His lips quirk. “We might.”

Obviously, I keep his calendar, but when it’s an event I don’t need to know the specifics of, I block out the time with “silent auction” or “fundraiser,” something vague to account for his time. Tonight’s event simply said, “Morelli Christmas ball, Bishop’s Landing.”

The name is not unfamiliar to me, but if it is the family I’m thinking of, I have no idea why Lee would be attending one of their lavish events.

Once I’ve swallowed the champagne, I decide to ask. “So, what is the purpose of the gala we’re attending tonight? Business? Pleasure?”

“A bit of both.”

“And the Morelli family is hosting?”

“Correct.” He watches me for a moment, then asks, “Is that a problem?”

“Not a problem, per se, but I am wondering how you know them. Also, if I should have packed one of those sexy thigh holsters and a gun like lady spies in the movies.”

His dark eyebrows rise. “A gun?”

“You know, just in case. I didn’t even think the Morellis ran New York. I mean, I’m obviously no expert in organized crime, but I thought different families ran different cities.”

Now he’s looking at me rather oddly. “Organized crime?”

I nod my head expectantly.

“I think we might know different Morelli families. If you asked a Constantine, they might say these Morellis are criminals, but they’re based in Bishop’s Landing and that’s not exactly what they’re known for.”

“I see. Well, in Chicago where I’m from, that name means a different thing.”

His lips tug upward. “A thing that apparently means you would need to wear a thigh holster to one of their parties.”