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"Can you please put some clothes on?" I ask instead.
"You're in my office," he reminds me, humor in his voice.
"Yes, because I was hired to be here. I didn't know you'd be here, running around naked." I huff out a breath. "Don't you have a shower at your own house?"
"Why? You want to see me naked in it too?"
"Oh my god!" I cry, flinging my hands out. "I don't want to see you naked at all! I want you to put clothes on like a normal person."
"Liar. Your eyes have been drifting toward my dick since you saw me standing I the doorway, tesoro." He smirks at me, his gaze heated. "You're fucking dying to know if it's as big as you think it is, aren't you?"
"Maybe you should call the police," I say. "We'll see who they believe, a known member of the mafia with thousands of dollars in his desk drawer, or an innocent woman."
His smirk slips, his expression darkening. "You think I got the money illegally."
"You said it, not me."
"Everything that happens within this building is legitimate."
I snort.
"The money is for charity, piccola fiamma."
"The mafia isn't a charity, Gabriel."
"I'm not talking about the fucking mafia," he growls. "It's going to Northwestern's Memorial Foundation. Their doctors saved my miserable life. I like to return the favor."
"Oh," I whisper, my heart plummeting as shame creeps over me. The stark hopelessness in his expression makes me feel about two inches tall. They may have saved his life, but I don't think he believes he deserved it. I want to ask what happened, but I don't think now is the time.
I stare at him for a long moment, trying to reconcile the jagged pieces of this man. There are so many of them, and I'm not sure exactly how they fit together or what picture they form. Is he the dangerous criminal everyone says he is? The broken, scarred survivor? The insufferably bossy, arrogant billionaire with a dirty mouth? I don't know.
Part of me wants to find out. And that's the part of me that can't be trusted. She's the dangerous one…the one who will lead me to ruin if I let her.
God help me, but I can't let her. Not for this man. Not for any man.
Not with Alexander out there looking for me. Because if he finds me? He'll kill everyone standing in his path to get his hands on me and what I took from him.
Chapter Three
Gabriel
I've learned to read people. When your life and those of the people you love depend on you knowing what people are capable of, reading them on sight becomes second nature. Reading this fiery little copper-headed goddess is simple. Her name isn't Genie, and she isn't a fucking maid. But she is terrified of the cops.
It has nothing to do with the fact that she was prowling through my desk, either. I don't think she gives a flying fuck that I caught her doing that. Until I brought up the cops, she was fire and venom, her bravado unwavering. It shattered at her feet once I made my threat. Abject terror bled into those emerald eyes, searing her with panic.
I'd gamble my fortune on the fact that she's running from someone, and she's scared as hell they're going to catch her.
I make a note to find out who and solve the problem. Just as soon as I solve my current problem: Getting her back to my place without her disappearing.
She's not leaving my sight for the foreseeable future.
As soon as I set eyes on her, a goddamn landslide started in my chest. For the first time since the accident, I felt my heart beat. No, that's not true. The fucking thing jolted to life like an electric shock just shot through it. I want her. In my home. In my bed. Screaming the fucking roof down while I worship her curvy body.
I've never felt anything like it.
I've never met anyone like her.
Everyone who walks through these doors does it with a healthy dose of respect. They fear what they don't understand and don't understand what they fear. They can't see past the rumors they hear about my family. They look at me and see La Cosa Nostra.
I stopped trying to get them to see anything different a long fucking time ago. There was no point. I'll always be nothing more nor less than the goddamn vow I took. It demands everything and then a little more.
But this little flame? There's no fear in her eyes when she looks at me. There's nothing but disdain and the desire she's trying like hell to hide. She wants to hate me, not because I frighten her, but because I don't frighten her nearly enough. She wants me, even though she shouldn't. Her little nipples are hard for me, even though she wishes they weren't.
