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“What are you doing to me?” I whisper, feeling myself going over the edge again.
I want to tear these covers off and give her what we both want. I’ve watched her enough to know she loves getting off. Swallowing and counting to ten, I get my shit together.
There’s always another day for that. For me to come in here and tear her clothes off and fuck her in this bed like an animal.
But for tonight, I bend down and leave the gentlest of kisses on her nose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jillian
On Monday, Marcia in the cubicle across from my office, giggles into her phone. She pronounces it with a Latino flair, Mar-see-ah. Not Marcia Marcia Marcia. The way she blushes, suggests she’s talking to a guy.
My throat tightens, and I sink into a panic attack thinking I’ll never hook up with anyone ever again. This insatiable hunger is eating away at me.
I can’t keep my mind from wandering to Eoghan and his offer to get my fill of him.
With all interest lost in the case I’m reviewing, a mundane counterfeit ring, I open an excel spreadsheet on my computer and type out Pros and Cons of getting lost with Eoghan in the sheets while he works on the Borgia case.
Pros:
Guaranteed satisfaction in bed.
I assume our fantastic sex wasn’t a fluke.
Doesn’t want anything serious.
Another assumption, but I can’t exactly ask him. Or could I?
Negotiate the terms of just us sweating it out in the sheets?
How unsexy.
I edit my second Pro entry:
Doesn’t want anything serious with me.
He lives in New York.
I’m not his type.
Not being his type is from my observation of all the other mafia bosses and lackeys strutting around this city. They all have tall, thin models on their arms. I chalk up my one-night stand with Eoghan to him being turned on because I yelled at him in the bar.
Men love a challenge.
But when it comes to dating, I’m not much of a challenge. Or exciting. I work nine to five, do yoga, microwave pre-packaged meals for dinners, belong to a book club for entertainment, and indulge in one luscious glass of red wine every night.
Working the corruption unit gave me a glimpse of how mafia men live. Jetting off to exotic locations on their fancy jets. Sitting front-row at sold-out, impossible-to-get concerts, and mingling backstage. Snapping their fingers and getting anything and everything they want.
More Pros escape me because all I have are subsets of number one. How unbelievable Eoghan was in bed. How gorgeous he is. That dirty talk is the chef’s kiss. Those damn blue eyes. That mouth, his lips.
And of course, his unbelievable dick.
My eyes slip closed, and the picture of him in my head is so vivid, it’s like he’s in front of me as I start an imaginary conversation with him over this Pro/Con list.
Eoghan: No Cons yet, sparkles?
Me: Oh right, you’re a criminal.
