The Mafia Kidnapped Me

(16) Friend Slash Brother Slash Cousin.

Ps: The picture is Peter.

Devlin swore softly as he heard footsteps and whistling that were getting louder down the hall. He was seated behind his desk in his study and didn't need a companion - much less a very annoying one.

To his chagrin, the uninvited guest didn't bother to knock but opened the door of his study with lazy grace. He poked his head in while holding the door open.

"Devil! You in here?"

"What do you want Peter?"

His cousin whipped around in his direction and grinned. "Good to see you too, Dev."

Devlin ignored his humor. He was busy. He had a lot of things on his mind, a lot of things to sort out, and Peter was stopping him from going about his duties. Granted, he hadn't been giving what he'd been studying a hundred percent concentration, what with his heart skipping beats whenever he thought of Pamela?

He felt like a bastard at the way he'd spoken to her the other night. He owed her an apology - hell no, he would cut his tongue off before he apologized. He'll just send her a bunch of flowers, white roses maybe. Most ladies would be thrilled to have flowers sent to them.

But Pamela wasn't most ladies. She was spoilt, yes. She was a brat, yes. But she possessed something that always pulled at his heartstrings, making him break more rules than he'd want to admit.

"Why are you sitting there all alone, cooped up in this dreadful room?"

"It's called a study." Devlin glanced back down at the charts he had been studying.

"Doesn't mean it has to be stuffy. It stinks of arse in here."

Devlin didn't want to lose spit over him. "Show yourself out when you're done."

Peter grinned. "Not bloody likely."

He scraped back one of the chairs that faced Devlin's mahogany desk that served as his study table and plopped down on it, propping his legs on the table.

Devlin glared at him. "What do you want?"

"That's the fifth time you've hurled that question at me -"

"- two but who's counting -" Devlin muttered under his breath.

"- one would think you didn't give a shit about me but you do. If I killed myself you'll cry, that's for sure."

Devlin couldn't resist raising his brows in mock surprise.

"Then the whole world will know you're not so hard after all." Peter grinned, showing off immaculate white teeth.

Devlin sighed. It was no use trying to get back to what he was doing. When Peter was around, not much work gets done. He stood and moved to his wet bar and poured himself a straight scotch. He raised the bottle towards Pete, in askance, if he wanted a drink and he shook his head in negation, still showing off his teeth. "You went to the dentist, I see." He remarked dryly.

Peter gave a small shout of victory. "Hurrah! You noticed!" He grinned widely like a cow as Devlin returned to his desk with his glass. "I had to give my teeth a refreshing whitening." He leaned forward and whispered, "You noticed, and you said you didn't love me."

Devlin didn't remember when he said that but he let it pass.

Peter sobered up, his giddy expression turning sour. "I was told that my teeth were god-awful."

Devlin resisted the urge to laugh and won, but his eyes held glints of humor and the endings of his lips lifted slightly.

"She must have been very important to get you to hurl yourself down to a dentist. I'm not sure you've been to one all your life."