Pride (Bareknuckle Boxing Brotherhood Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

about, one more thing to take out on the heavy bag later.
    Camila breezed by to get Dillon a refill. Before he even realized he meant to do it, Bronny caught her wrist. She spun to meet his eyes, more startled than annoyed.
    “I figured if I didn’t catch you as you went by, I wouldn’t see you again. This place is busy for an off night.”
    “Off night?”
    “No fight,” he clarified. “Has anyone ordered your Pasta Mattie?”
    “Pasta Norma alla Mattie. It’s really Pasta Norma, but Mattie, my aunt, taught me to make it. And no. Unfortunately, it’s a failure. No one here wants Sicilian food. They’d prefer something greasy and fried, no doubt.”
    “Do me a favor?”
    “Yeah. Do you want the leftovers to take home?”
    “No. I want you to make up a bowl of that pasta, dump some cheese on top, and give it to that table over there,” He indicated Tommy Fallon and his brother Jamie, “on the house. Let them try it. If they like it, if other people see it and smell it, you may get some orders.”
    “Increased sampling…good idea.” She whirled back toward the kitchen. “Uh, I’ll need my wrist, Bronny,” she said, rolling her eyes.
    Bronny released her arm, sitting unusually still, as if listening. She had said his name, possibly for the first time, possibly the second; he didn’t recall. But she said it differently than anyone else had. It seemed shockingly familiar, intimate, for Camila Saunders to call him by his name. All his life he’d been the youngest Dolan boy, a promising boxer, a decent student who got through uni on hard work, not brilliance. She didn’t know any of those things about him, but she could say his name like someone who knew him, like someone who had whispered his name in the dark.
    Camila breezed out with a big bowl of pasta, set it on the Fallons’ table, and grated fresh cheese onto the fragrant garlicky food with a grin. Bronny saw her stoop to talk to them and favor them with a smile.
    God, that smile wrecked him.
    He noticed men and a couple of women at the surrounding tables craning their necks, looking toward the delicious smell and watching the Fallons shovel in big forkfuls of steaming pasta. Soon, three tables had flagged her down with orders for food. Rabbie laughed.
    “Wish you hadna said anything to her. She’d have been mad enough not to try it again.”
    “Why don’t you want her serving food?”
    “Don’t fit the place. They may eat her noodles for a few weeks, but she’s Italian and loud and moody. She don’t belong in Murrawallen.” Rabbie shook his head.
    “You sound like my dad. Only—nicer,” Bronny admitted with a short laugh. “My dad had a few words about what Saunders’ daughter could go do to herself for trying to shut down the fight club.”
    “I bet he did. Your old dad isn’t a bad sort, but no one with sense’d get between a Dolan and a fight, even if he’s only watching,” Rabbie observed. Bronny nodded to the truth of it.
    Camila delivered more food, then stopped by the bar. She leaned on her elbows across the bar from him, the first time he’d seen her stand still all night. She wasn’t grinning or laughing like she had been. That dark-eyed gaze was fixed on him with an intensity he could feel like nails on his bare back.
    “Thanks, Bronny. It worked.”
    Then Camila leaned forward and kissed his cheek, slid back from the bar, and was on her way into the kitchen before he could get his breath or his bearings. The last thing he remembered was the way the unbuttoned collar of her flannel shirt gapped and gave him a glimpse of full, round breasts when she leaned across the bar. Then it was like he’d blacked out from all that tantalizing flesh, and the desire to touch and stroke and lick.
    “You okay, Dolan?” Dillon elbowed him playfully.
    “Yeah, I just got a bit on my mind what with the tourney next week. I’m off. Have a workout to fit in.”
    Bronny meant to go train in his dad’s basement on the equipment, but he