Page 16 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

“But not here.” I’m firm, my eyes still locked on hers. “Not like this.”

She blinks slowly, breaking the spell. She might as well slice my chest open and cut out a piece of my heart as walk away from me right now, and I understand that it’s now or never. No second chances. No contrived meet-cutes like you see in the movies.

“Do you trust me?” I ask.

Her lips curl up at the corners, and I realize that it’s the first time I’ve seen her smile. Her eyes practically glow amber around her enlarged pupils, and her features soften into something even more beautiful.

“No.”

Well, at least she’s fucking honest.

I stand back. “You can walk away right now, and I promise I won’t come looking for you.”

She doesn’t move. Instead, she peers up at me from beneath thick black lashes and nibbles her bottom lip. “I don’t want to walk away.”

My heart performs a somersault behind my ribs, and I crush her mouth with mine. “Any time you want this to stop, just say the word.”

“What word?”

I can’t help smiling. “Shamrock.”

5

TAMARA

What am I doing?

I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone outside of the Ivanov organization; Leonid taught us this when he first welcomed me and Ivana into his home, and it’s a lesson that I have never forgotten.

But my body has overruled my head on this one, and I can no more walk away from him without knowing all that he has to give than I could ever stop searching for my sister.

I don’t trust him, but I want him.

My legs are trembling so violently that I can barely walk as I follow him along the alleyway and into the back of a taxi. I can still feel his fingers inside me. Can still taste my own juices that I licked from his fingers. And it isn’t enough.

The only thing I am certain of is that he doesn’t know where Ivana is.

I don’t think about my sister as I follow him back out of the taxi when it stops and into an apartment building in the West Loop area of the city. I can’t think about her or what she would say if she could see me right now.

I’m doing this for me, and it hits me like a bolt of lightning, that this is the first time I’ve ever put myself first. In anything.

He holds my hand as we enter the elevator, his hand warm and solid and strong, and I realize a second thing: Ivana is the only other person who has ever held my hand.

We don’t speak as we ride up to his apartment.

It isn’t awkward. We’re simply trapped in our own bubbles of want, waiting for the moment when they burst at the same time.

He doesn’t release my hand when the elevator door opens. We cross the hallway and step into his apartment together, and I take in the wall painted to resemble a forest on the far side of the living room, the squashy sofas with plump cushions, the ferns in huge terracotta pots leaning towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the shelves filled with books. The room is neat but lived in, and I can immediately imagine him tossing his shoes and jacket aside at the end of a long day and flopping onto the couch with a takeout pizza and an old classic movie on the TV.

He folds me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “Shamrock, remember.”

“Shamrock.” I repeat the word, knowing that it will be the only time I say it out loud.

His heart is thudding against my shoulder, and I tug his sweater and tank up,then press my lips to his chest. He pulls away far enough to drag them over his head and reveal the tattoo covering most of his chest: a Celtic cross decorated with such an intricately woven pattern that I could study it for hours.

I follow the outline with my fingertip up to his right nipple which is level with my mouth. He doesn’t move. Not until I go closer and suck his nipple, nibbling it between my front teeth and flicking it with the tip of my tongue.

Then he pulls me back to him and his mouth crushes mine and his hands are everywhere.