Page 19 of Don’t Say Mafia

There was a potted plant on the counter, some kind of fake fern, and that was as far as I got. I yanked my cock free, and with one rough stroke I was coming. Hot pulses spilled over my fist, splattering onto the leaves of the plant like I was an animal marking territory. My hips jerked forward again and again, my vision whiting out at the edges, and a broken groan ripped out of my throat as extreme pleasure tore through me.

What. The. Fuck.

I’d never come like this . . . and certainly not involuntarily into greenery. Bracing both hands on the counter, my breath ragged, and my cock still twitching as cum dripped down the fake leaves onto the marble, I stared at my wrecked reflection.

And then I started laughing.

Because this woman, this quiet little cocktail waitress with sad eyes and a mouth I wanted to stuff, was going to destroy me.

I was already forming a plan.

Married wasn’t a red light. It was a mild inconvenience.

And I had never, in my life, respected mild inconveniences.

CHAPTER 5

JAGGER

After I . . . recovered, I left the bathroom and found a place to lurk so I could watch her work for a while. I wasn’t going to call this creepy, but it was probably venturing close to the word for the first time in my life. I pulled out my phone while I watched her so I could text Lawson to start my plan.

I needed the woman’s name if I was going to stalk her properly.

Me: I need the names and photos of every staff member on shift tonight in Paradise. Cocktail waitresses included.

The reply came fast.

Lawson: That’s specific. Give me two minutes.

I leaned against the wall, my eyes locked on her again. She laughed at something a bartender said as she picked up drinks, and for one stupid second I forgot how to breathe. I forgot everything except how fucking gorgeous she looked when she smiled like that.

Then the haze cleared, and I registered the ache in my hand. I was gripping my phone so hard the case was creaking, and the screen was threatening to crack under my thumb. Taking a deep breath, I unclenched my hand, telling myself it was unreasonable to storm across the floor and drag her out of here just because she smiled at someone else.

Holy fuck. I was turning into my brother.

No, I’m not, I assured myself. This was a lust thing. His was a crazy thing. The two feelings were very different.

My phone buzzed again, and I straightened.

Lawson: Sent.

I opened the folder in my email and scrolled without interest until I found her.

There she was—smiling in her employee ID photo, eyes tired but bright, and her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. I saved the photo and resisted the urge to make it my profile screen.

Eden Thorne.

Was it a little ironic that her name was Eden and she worked in a casino called Paradise? Yes. But somehow it was also fitting.

I caught myself running my thumb over her picture on my phone like it might respond to praise, and I huffed out a laugh. “Pull it together,” I muttered. When you start petting your screen like it’s going to purr, it’s probably time to do something else.

Me: Eden Thorne. Get me everything.

Lawson: Everything everything?

Me: Everything everything.

There was a pause.