Page 21 of The Mobster’s Secret

Ivan’s eyes narrow as though he was the one who came up with the recipe. He nods. “You can have it whenever you want, princess.”

“I just can’t leave whenever I want?” I counter.

To my surprise, Ivan smirks and lets out a soft laugh. He spoons another bite into his mouth, swallows, then taps his fingers on the table.

“You’re quite the firecracker, you know that?”

“And you like that?”

What am I doing? I shouldn’t be flirting with a man who is holding me hostage. But I just can’t help myself.

Ivan runs his tongue across his teeth. That same tongue that was between my legs, introducing me to pleasures I’d never felt before. I push those thoughts aside. No. Not now. Stay focused.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Of course it makes my hands tremble when Ivan looks at me with so much want and desire. When he talks dirty in my ear and rubs his swollen manhood against my apex. I’ll even confess to some pride when he comes because of me, but what really gets me going is the fact that he isn’t just attracted to me for my look. He likes me for me.

He likes to flirt. He likes it when I give things right back to him. Other people generally call me a smart-mouth or a bitch, but not Ivan. He calls me a firecracker, and that makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

Being the king, he’s probably used to men not talking back to him. When we first met, I thought he was just another guy, so I was as sassy as I normally am. Looking back, that’s actually crazy, but I’m sure not going to change my behavior now. He wouldn’t like that anyway.

But none of this matters because I can’t stay here. I can’t let this threateningly handsome kingpin derail the life I’ve planned out for myself. The life I’ve been building.

“What do I think?” I reply. “I think that I’m going to finish my degree and you’re not going to stop me.”

7

IVAN

It took everything in me not to sweep Willow up in my arms, take her into my bedroom, and strip her bare. My desire for her is endless. I woke up twice during the night to jerk off to the dreams I was having about her.

This is the first time in my life I’ve felt anything like this.

All I want to do is stay in with her all day and pleasure her.

But I’m still the king of New York, and I still have business to see to. Business that I must complete if I want to keep her safe. My princess. My queen.

So even now, on my way to a meeting with Vincent Messina, my mind is back home with her. It’s like an invisible chain between us, linking us in an unbreakable bond.

I’m unfocused. And that’s not good.

All I can think about is her. Seeing her in some of the clothes I bought for her…I wonder if she noticed the lingerie at the bottom of the box. Or the heels.

Christ, my mind is clouded with images of her. Fantasies. Visions of our future together. Just sitting down and having breakfast with her this morning felt like the tectonic plates shifting beneath my feet.

Never did I ever think I would be sitting at a table with a woman and simply enjoying her company. Especially not one as sassy as Willow. But when Tom came and told me it was time for the meeting, I honestly thought about telling him to send word to Vincent that I wouldn’t be coming.

I just wanted to keep sitting there with her.

But if I want to keep Willow safe and let her pursue her degree, I’m going to have to straighten out this mess with the Messinas. I cannot let anything happen to her. Fine, she’ll be pissed at me for not letting her out of the house, but it’s better than her getting hurt. Or worse.

Willow’s face flashes through my mind when the first bullets strike the truck windows, shattering glass everywhere. The thunderous chatter of gunfire sounds from across the street as my men start shouting for me to get down.

“Take cover, boss!” Brian bellows, firing back at our attackers.

Another bullet scorches across my shoulder, spraying blood. I kick open the door and dive out, pulling my Glock from my waistband. At least four men are firing at us from a dark sedan. I fire back, dropping one with my first shot.

This isn’t my first firefight. Normally, I’m cold as ice. My heartrate barely even moves. It’s one of the things about me that brought me such respect with my men. But now, as bullets whizz by my head, I’m actually scared.