His (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)(23)
“Vince,” she says, pulling away, eyes still shut and mouth half-open. She looks around nervously, but no one seems to have noticed. “I’m at work…”
“You shouldn’t be working in a place like this,” I say softly. “Just trash the article and get out of this place. I can take care of you. I have more money than I know what to do with.”
Her face hardens. “How did you know I was writing an article?”
“Like I said before. You think I can just let you walk free after what you saw?”
She takes a step back. “Here you are talking about me needing to trust you? Real nice fucking way to show it. You’ve been spying on me?”
“And a good fuckin’ thing too, wasn’t it? Because that article you’re writing sure as hell looks like a ticket to prison for me and half my family.”
“I wasn’t really going to submit it. I just…I’ve always wanted to break a story like this. Something dangerous and controversial that could get me off the sideline and into the newsroom. I think I had to at least write the story, even if I knew I wouldn’t go through with it.”
“And I’m just supposed to walk away while my death warrant sits there on that fuckin’ machine?”
Something hard enters her eyes. “What are you going to do to me if I don’t delete it?”
“You’ve got some nerve…” I say, voice dangerously low.
“Tell me,” she says, shoving my chest. She’s stronger than I expected, but it takes more than that to push me off balance.
I glare back at her, feeling like hot coals are burning behind my eyes. “You want the truth? If I was able to hurt you, I would have saved myself a lot of trouble and killed you when you walked in on me with Ronnie. But I can’t.” I move a little closer, tugging at her blouse and smirking. “The only way I want to hurt you is with my hard cock and you on your knees, begging for more.”
Her cheeks flush red, and a few emotions I can’t place pass over her face before she walks to her computer and closes the file, shows me where it’s saved, deletes it, and then empties the recycle bin. She could always write it again, of course, but I appreciate the act. I feel like we’ve finally managed to create some slender line of trust between us, even if it feels like it might snap at any moment.
“Good,” I say.
“What now?” she asks.
She almost looks like she’s hoping I’ll punish her right here in this cubicle. I damn well might, but I’ve got too much on my plate. I’ve already spent way more time dealing with this than I should have. “Now, you lay low, keep doing your job, and—” I glance around to be sure no one’s listening. “You keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” I raise my eyebrows. “Got it?”
She nods, large eyes looking up at me more innocently than I can believe now that I know the type of freak she is when her clothes come off. I lean forward and kiss her. I don’t plan to, but I kiss her soft and slow, with more tenderness than I’ve ever kissed a woman. In that moment she feels like something delicate and I feel real fear for the first time in as long as I can remember. I’m afraid of what I will do if anything happens to her, afraid of what it would do to me. When we pull apart, both our faces are flushed. Damn. She’s dangerous. Real fuckin’ dangerous.
12
Aubriella
It has been a week since Vincent came to my office at SportsCast. My thoughts keep returning to those moments in the same way my tongue always wants to prod at a canker sore. It hurts every time I touch it, but I can’t help testing it again and again to see if it still hurts.
The idea that torments me most is why Vincent has to be who he is. Why can’t I be this magnetically drawn to some guy with a nice, legal job who doesn’t make me feel like my life is on the line every time I’m near him? Why does the sex have to be so incredible that it has me more hooked than a junkie? Just thinking that Vince has so much power over me pisses me off. A lot. Well, either way, I’m not going down the road he wants me to. I saw the way he looked at me before he left my office. He wants me to be his…I don’t know what mafia guys have. Concubines? I’m sure as hell not going to be that. I barely even know him. All I really know is that he’s gorgeous and the sex is great.
That’s not true though. His eyes and his hands say so much more than most men. He’s a man of action, of no hesitation, of certainty and confidence. His eyes say that he wants to own me like he has probably owned countless women before me, but the occasional tenderness in his touch makes me wonder if I’m not breaking through that careless shell of his and becoming something more to him. The worst part is that I don’t even know if that’s wishful thinking—do I really wish he wanted more from me than just sex? Either way, trying to escape him seems as pointless as trying to escape gravity. The farther I manage to get from him, the faster I’ll fall right back into his arms.