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"I'm going with you."
I face him more fully. "Excuse me? No."
"Yes."
Before I can snap that he's going overboard with this whole protection thing, Nico moves. His warm body presses against mine until I'm pinned against one elevator wall. My breath catches as his lips skim down my neck to explore my clavicle. One of his hands tangles in my hair to hold my head the way he wants, while the other slips into the front of my pants. His warm fingers brush aside my panties to skim over my pussy, barely grazing my clit and making me jump.
I can barely speak through my breathlessness. "Oh my God, Nico. Not in the elevator."
"Why not?" he practically growls, kissing me. His lips are knee-meltingly warm and demanding. "It's a private elevator. No one will walk in."
"It's a cliché," I finally manage. "And I really don't want to visit my family looking like a mess."
"You're fucking beautiful when you're a mess."
"Nico," I gasp when two of his fingers briefly slide up into me, powerful and thick. "I… I'm really sore," I admit, grimacing a little even now at the stretch his fingers cause.
At that, he pulls away from where he was kissing along my ear. He studies me, brows lowered. If I didn't know better, I'd think this expression was nothing short of full-bodied concern.
But it can't be. Because this is Nico Attolini. It's best to remind myself that he's a prick nowadays.
So, I quickly shove him away and fix my clothes and hair, casting him a haughty look as the elevator comes to a stop. He follows me out.
"My fault," he murmurs, voice low and annoyingly sexy. "Perdonami."
I know that one means 'forgive me.'I scoff. If the smug smile he flashes at me is any indication, I shouldn't believe anything he says in Italian. I step out to look for a taxi to hail, but Nico takes my arm and nods at a classic black Maserati parked nearby.
I follow him begrudgingly. As if his exorbitant penthouse apartment wasn't enough. Between that, his car, and the high-end suits he never seems to have in short supply, I'm positive he does something on the side of typical mafia shenanigans. Of course, I'd already suspected it before signing the contract. As I slide into the nice car, I eye him in the driver's seat.
"What's your business?" I ask.
"Just that. My business. Not yours."
"You said the money wasn't dirty. I just want reassurance. All of this must cost millions, so did you win a lottery somewhere or something?"
He pulls into the street, needing no navigation to start out in the direction of my family's house. They live quite a ways from the Upper East Side, so we have time. "If you must know, I have several diversified investments. They don't do badly."
"What kind of investments?" I press.
"Banking. Real estate. Oil and steel. Recently technology, since I believe investing in processors will turn a pretty penny in the long run."
"Huh. Okay. The Undertaker is also a millionaire businessman. Good to know."
"Billionaire," he corrects idly, changing lanes.
I lean back in my seat, frowning ahead of us. That wasn't what I expected. None of Nico's private life today matches what I pictured for the dimple-smiled gentleman of a mafioso I ran into four years ago. "If you have that much money, then why the hell are you still in the mafia?"
Nico laughs once, short, and humorless. "You of all people should know how families like mine work. Connections aren't severed except through death. It's not a job you can just quit."
I make a face at the absoluteness of that statement but say nothing. By the time we finally pull up in front of my family's house and park, his voice startles me out of the long stretch of silence spanning between us.
"Tell me the plan."
"What plan?"
Nico smirks. "How will you introduce me, and how should I act? Will I be your boyfriend? Your captor? Or maybe you should tell them everything and skip forward to calling me your baby daddy?"
I roll my eyes. "I'm introducing you asnothing, you ass, because you'll be staying here in the car."
