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Chapter 11
Elena’s eyesflare to life, fires blazing in her golden irises as she drags her impertinent little tongue over her plump lips.
“I can handle it,” she practically purrs, arousal coating her words as they stroke across my skin.
The flimsy pink outfit she has on does nothing to hide the fact that she’s turned on, her nipples sharp as they strain against the satin fabric. A deep, scalding flush inches up her throat, highlighting the mark I left at its base even though she tried to cover it with makeup.
I wasn’t being dramatic when I said I wasn’t in the mood for company. In fact, before she walked in, I was mere seconds away from reentering the soundproofed outbuilding and continuing on with the job I started.
Leo “Knees” Morelli’s blood still stains my scrubs, with my need to get a message across to Elena’s father the only goal I’ve had in mind for the last few days.
Unable to get through to the Riccis in Boston and unwilling to leave Elena at the Asphodel alone, in case there’s some sort of plot to steal her away from me, I’ve been something of a sitting duck since finding out about the stories making headlines.
Waiting, watching, biding my time.
Keeping myself locked away from my wife, trying to keep my anger toward her father completely separate from our little arrangement.
Then Blue, one of Jonas’s employees at the Flaming Chariot, noticed an out-of-towner who seemed to pop up out of nowhere. No family or friends, and no interest in doing tourist activities. He’d walk into the bar, take a seat in a back corner booth and drink beer all day, then disappear at night without a trace.
He walked with a limp, Blue reported back to Jonas, and had a very distinct zigzag scar running from the top of his kneecap to the back of his heel. No one would’ve noticed it if not for the fight he got in during his second night in town, where he pinned a waiter down for spilling wine on his table.
I know that scar. Dragged the dermaplane tool that created it through his thin flesh myself.
Knees is a Ricci cousin, though a shitty one at that. Years ago, he got caught cooking the books at one of Ricci’s illegal gambling operations, and rather than send him to the bottom of the Charles like the Elders wanted, Rafe had me put the fear of la famiglia into him, then excommunicated him from town.
Last I knew, they weren’t on speaking terms, although his presence in Aplana proves otherwise. I don’t know what exactly Rafe sent him to do, couldn’t get him to admit anything, but it’s not happening now.
Jonas should be delivering his head to the post office on the north end of the island soon.
Taking a small step toward me, Elena reaches out, brushing her fingernails against my scrub top.
I haven’t practiced in months, but they were the only other thing in the basement when I arrived earlier, and I hadn’t wanted to run upstairs and risk Jonas laying into Knees before I could.
Curling her fingers under the hem, she pulls herself closer, leaving just enough space between us that I can feel the slightest whisper of her breath against the base of my throat.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I say, swallowing as she tips her chin up, hooding her sweet gaze with her thick lashes.
I’m already thinking of all the ways I might take her, make her regret ever meeting or propositioning me in the first place.
Things I swore to myself I wouldn’t even consider until she was here enough time for me to get her settled, and yet here I am, succumbing to the hysteria in her eyes.
She shakes her head, dark hair swishing back and forth over her slender shoulders. “I know it’s not.”
Without another word, or even time for another conscious thought, she fists my shirt and yanks me flush against her. Pushing up on her toes, she fuses her mouth to mine, taking charge before I can put a stop to it.
This is only the second time we’ve kissed, and yet somehow it feels as if it’s our millionth and first all at once.
Fuck, if she doesn’t taste as wicked as she did before, the slight tang from a fruity snack lingering like a film of temptation. It mixes with the scent of her pomegranate shampoo, and suddenly I don’t want to ever eat another fruit as long as I live.
If Elena is even half as divine as the fruit in the Garden of Eden, I absolutely understand Eve’s surrender.
Maybe she is just bored, and maybe I’m skipping valuable steps in my plan, but fuck if I’m considering any of that when her mouth devours mine.
A growl passes between our lips, though I’m not sure whose chest it tears from; my dick swells as I wrap my arms around her waist, fitting myself into the pliant curves of her body, and turn, shoving her back against the desk.
Grunting when her ass smacks against the wood surface, she slides her hands up my chest and locks them around my neck, using her fingers to maneuver my head the way she wants.
Sucking and nipping, she creates a storm, lashing her tongue against mine, mapping out the interior of my mouth like it’s an uncharted island.
