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“Hey, asshole.” She admonishes. “Are you going to ogle me all night?”
That sass.
My chest tightens and I have the urge to bend her over my knee for that mouth of hers. I can’t place exactly why I’m attracted to her. There’s a spark running through my body, straight to my cock. My palms are sweaty and I find myself wringing my hands together. She’s giving me a whirlwind of emotions I haven’t felt in a long time.
Lust.
Anxiety.
Attraction.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Her painted red lips curve into a playful smile. “It’s a bar.” She feigns ignorance. “I’m drinking.”
I exhale the breath I’d been holding. “Why are you in my bar?”
If my father had seen her here, or even my brother, she’d be fucking dead. Doesn’t this girl know there’s a war going on outside? I cringe at the thought of what my family would do to her. Lock her in the warehouse, torture her for information, sell her to the highest bidder. Hell, I should do all of those things to her.
But I won’t.
The air in the room feels so thick and the electricity between us has a contact buzz ringing in my ear. I try to push it down, push all of my thoughts and emotions into a box and store it away but for some reason that’s not working now. I can’t push the hunger I’m feeling away.
She shrugs. “Didn’t know it was your bar.” She’s all bravado, like she has no idea what she’s doing. Her confidence is grating, I want to strangle her and kiss her all at the same time. She’s a damn paradox, and I hate her for it.
“Why are you in Boston at all? Don’t you have any fucking bars in Providence?”
She wipes her fingers against the vase on my credenza, it’s a meaningless object that just takes up space. My office isn’t nice, but it’s something. Not that I’m here all that often, but sometimes I need a place to do business, and this works.
“My brothers own all the good clubs in Providence.” She sighs. “Fucking me is the kiss of death.” Her eyes flicker to mine. “Does that scare you?”
“Not much scares me, babe.” I lean back against the wall, trying to mimic her easygoing posture.
She boosts herself up on the side table, her olive legs dangling for a second before she crosses them elegantly. “What does scare you?” she asks with a smile.
She’s goading me, trying to get under my skin. She’s a DelGado after all, I’m sure she takes after her father. But she’s prettier than the men in her family, she has a charm about her that’s getting to me.
“I’m not afraid of your family, Gemma.”
She shrugs. “Me either.”
“What game are you playing here, girl?”
She doesn’t answer, instead her eyes take in all of my office. She scans the sofa, the bare walls, the walnut desk and leather chair. I feel like I’m being judged under her gaze. I shouldn’t care what the mafia princess thinks of my office, but for some reason I do.
“Gemma.”
“I’m not playing a game.” Her hazel eyes finally meet mine again. “You’re playing a game, and my family’s playing a game, but I’m not.” She hops off the side table and marches toward me. “You don’t scare me, Liam O’Connor.” She points a manicured nail in my face.
She’s inches from me, her hazel eyes are drilling into mine, and her red lips are so fucking close. She smells like flowers, roses and vanilla, and I suddenly want to lick every inch of her to see if she tastes as good as she smells.
She feels it too. Her eyes are locked onto mine and she inhales a ragged breath. She lifts her chin, exposing her neck to me, and I want to kiss her there. I want to see how she responds when I taste the sensitive skin at the column of her throat.
I lift a hand without thinking and cup her cheek; she doesn’t flinch, instead she closes her eyes and leans in to it as if she’s feeling human contact for the first time.
Her lips part, it’s an innocent gesture, but it tugs at my self control.
“Gemma…”
