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The way Mia’s looking at me is not any kind of fucking ego booster.
“What the hell are you on about? Are you drunk? High?”
“Don’t touch any of the merch, Mia. And I haven’t had a drink.”
The feel of her mouth, those soft, warm lips, are still lingering like a brand on mine. I shouldn’t have kissed her.
Fuck, I shouldn’t do a lot of things, but that’s never stopped me before. “I’m saying we need to make it look like we’re a thing.”
“Like you’re undercover?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“That’s not any kind of acceptable answer.”
She blows out a breath, and I stroke my thumb against her cheek because I’m still touching her. Her skin is like satin, and the scar on the other side calls for my tongue to trace its path.
But she’s not going to let me do that. At least, not yet.
The things I want to do to her are things her brother will murder me for. Want to murder me for, I amend. Because I’m a lot harder to fucking kill than that.
I might be third in command at the De Luca crime family, and close friends to Leo—fuck, he’s a brother to me in many ways—touching his sister isn’t going to go over well.
But I think I’m going to be touching her. A hell of a lot. In all kinds of interesting, debauched, and filthy ways.
I’m not wrong about the whole reason I’m here. The reason beyond protecting her. But putting on a front like the one I told her we’d be doing meets my goals. The first one is keeping her safe, and the second is digging into the deeper tendrils of what’s happening.
Not just the fucking note and the fact there’s something going on here, but the rest of it. Like what Andrew told me.
There’s that offer Leo is weighing about Mia. Theo told me about it. My sister had words that would have gotten her punished if she wasn’t my baby sister, and she has given me the cutest damned nephew on the fucking planet.
But the rest worries me.
Gheata family camps are no doubt still licking wounds and plotting. I don’t like Mia was targeted twice, and there’s someone looking for a different sort of connection. Exactly what, I don’t know, but I know everything came together for us a little too easily.
But I need to have a sit down with her. And I need to get her to tell me what she knows.
“Well, Christian,” she says like she didn’t just kiss me back, didn’t just kiss me like she wanted to devour me, “that’s the only answer you’re going to get.”
I put my face right near hers. “Sweetness, you lie. You know something’s going on, and you know this makes sense.”
“What makes sense is you’re here on De Luca business. Which is me. Which is binding me down under the name of keeping me safe.”
The words ‘binding me down’ do nasty, wicked things to my already off-the-charts libido. Mia wrapped in rope and taking her down the path to the brink of orgasm, and then back again, until she’s mindless, until she’s spread open and begging for me.
I want her to beg for me.
I want to mark her as mine.
It’s a dangerous thing, wanting that.
Mia needs . . . fuck, she probably needs the thing I don’t have to give—love. Not the kind she wants, not the kind Blake has with Theo.
She probably needs gentle and loving too. I don’t do gentle. And loving goes hand in hand with love.
But making her mine?
