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It’s lust, pure and impossible lust.
I want this girl so badly it nearly kills me.
“Fynn?” She blinks in shock and glances at Gavino. “What are you two doing here?”
“I came to see if you’d reconsider my offer.” I lean heavily on the cane, shaking from the effort. “I’ll double the money. Four hundred grand, all your student loans paid, and a job if you’ll work with me.”
Her jaw drops—
And that’s when my knees give out.
I fall forward. Not into the apartment, thank fucking god. I catch myself on the doorframe with a grunt. She moves to help me but I shrug her off. “I’m fine,” I say, getting my cane repositioned. “I just slipped.” Which isn’t true. I’m a mess and I refuse to admit it.
She shakes her head and takes my arm. “Come on, come inside, you need to sit down and get some water.”
I grunt at her, frustrated and angry, but she’s leading me along anyway. Gavino waits in the hallway, shaking his head with some amusement in his eyes as Mirella takes me into her tiny apartment. There’s a little living area to the left and a narrow kitchen up ahead with a round table and two chairs. She sits me in one of those chairs and grabs a glass from a cabinet. I watch her shirt tug up as she reaches, exposing a strip of skin along her lower back, and my stomach does another thrill.
This girl is driving me crazy.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Here, drink this.” She gives me some water and I sip it thankfully.
“I’m fine,” I say, putting it back down. “But as you can see, I haven’t fully regained my mobility yet.” Understatement of the year.
She frowns and sits down in the chair across from me. “Why are you here, Fynn? Can’t you find someone else?”
“No, I can’t. I want you.” Those words, I want you, they mean a lot more than she realizes.
I wonder if she can see it. The way I’m looking at her, it’s not subtle. But she seems preoccupied, or maybe she doesn’t want to know what I’m thinking. God, I want to drag her into her bedroom and take her, right here, right now. I want to hear her scream my name and submit to me, body and soul.
“There have to be other doctors. Someone from another state, another country. There are thousands of PTs, why the hell do you need me, of all people?” She rubs her face with both hands.
I reach out impulsively and pull one of her hands away from her face. She stares, surprised by the touch, and our skin-to-skin contact is like connecting two batteries. The jolt is instant and the energy that flows from her into me and back again is intoxicating and arousing. I gently move her hand down and place it on the table, my fingers brushing against her knuckles, and I wonder what that hand would look like wrapped around my cock.
Stroking my tip.
Making me moan, driving me crazy.
Fuck, Fynn, stop it.
“I’ll be candid with you,” I say, keeping my voice level and soft. Even if I’m in tremendous pain at the moment and probably shouldn’t say this. “Problems are brewing for my family. Our enemies are gathering and they are going to use my weakness against the Famiglia. I cannot afford to be soft right now, not for myself, and not for my brothers and sister. I’m choosing you because you’re here, and because your father is a loyal and valuable Capo. You know my world, but you’re not a part of it. You’re perfect, Mirella.”
I pull my hand back. Even though I’d rather leave it there, touching the soft skin over her delicate finger bones, I can’t allow myself that weakness. She looks at me for a long moment and I can tell she’s wrestling with something, struggling hard against her doubts and her fears. She doesn’t want to move into my home. She doesn’t want to get involved with a mafia family. I can’t blame her.
But the money is too tempting, and I think she might feel whatever I’m feeling.
This spark. This energy.
It’s distracting. It’s a problem, but I can’t seem to make myself stop.
“Five hundred thousand,” she says quietly. “I want two and I want my mother to get three. Plus the loans and the job.”
I nod slowly. “All of that can be arranged.” It’s asking a lot but right now I don’t have time to negotiate.
“Two months. Eight weeks. If I want to walk at the end of that time, I’m going to walk. No arguments, no showing up at my place looking like a mess to convince me otherwise. Understood?”
I smirk at her and lean forward. “Do I really look like a mess right now?”
She stares into my eyes and her cheeks turn pink. No, I don’t think I’m a mess at all. In fact, she feels the opposite. God, the look she gives me, like she’s struggling not to release a whimper. She’s afraid of me, but she’s also defiant and angry. There’s hate in this girl, a hate so deep and dark that it spills out of her even when she’s trying to suppress it.
