His (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)(35)

I go with him to his car, trying and failing not to think about work I’m blowing off in the process. I settle into the seat of his car, and hiss out a long breath, looking at my phone to check the time.

“The third quarter is starting now,” I say.

He turns the key and then looks to me from beneath his long, dark lashes. “You’ll be glad to be done with that job, doll. Trust me.”

I shake my head, not completely believing I’ve let him take me this far. It was one level of reckless to sleep with him, but letting the only steady paycheck in my life slip away for him? I’m really losing it. I put my face in my hands, barely holding back a scream.

His hands rub the tension from my shoulders and he turns my face toward him, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You’re with me now. None of that shit can touch you anymore. Bills? Fuck them. Jobs? Fuck them. You’re going to spend your time doing what you want.”

I don’t dare say what I’m thinking, that he’s moving too fast. He’s talking about us like we’re already married, like the possibility of him getting bored of me and tossing me aside doesn’t exist. I still need to find out how to keep a roof over my head. Vince can promise me all he wants, but even if I could stomach living off his charity, there’s no telling how long it would last. Until I pissed him off? Until he got bored of me? And why does the idea of him getting bored of me hurt so much? I want to lock myself in a closet and scream until my throat is hoarse. Why does this all have to be so fucking confusing?

Then he touches my thigh and all my worry seems to melt away. I still can’t believe how much his touch affects me. Just his fingertips through the fabric of my skirt is making my chest heat and my cheeks flush. It doesn’t ever seem to matter how hard I want to keep away from him. As soon as his skin meets mine, it’s like a fever takes me over. I just want his body against mine and I want the way it makes me forget everything else while we’re together. It’s infuriating and addicting all at the same time.

I close my eyes, not stopping him as his hand pulls my skirt higher. He looks at me with a smoldering heat in his eyes. “You’re safe now.”

They’re only words, but they reach inside me and seem to actually slow my heart, which is still beating like crazy.

“Safe from them?”

“Safe from anyone.”

“Am I safe from you?”

There’s laughter in his eyes as he slides his hand up my leg to take my hand in his. “That depends on how you like it, doll.”

An image of him undoing his belt as he looms over me flashes in my mind and I feel heat blossom between my legs. I have to pinch my thighs together when I start imagining his hands moving their way up towards my welcoming heat.

I look around the car to distract myself. It’s nice. Really nice. Everything is polished and cleaned to perfection. Just looking at the car makes me feel like a slob. I think of all the crusty french fries still refusing to decay beneath my seat and of the cupholder that’s still sticky from when I left a paper cup full of soda in it too long. His car looks like he’s never even thought of eating in it. Of course he hasn’t. I glance at the way his muscled thighs press against the thin fabric of his slacks and bite my lip. With a body like his, I’d be surprised if he’s ever eaten a french fry in his life.

He drives me to a modern looking skyscraper. We cut down a side-street and he pulls into a well-lit garage that is surprisingly clean. The floor gleams and a man in a suit gives Vince a two-finger salute as he pulls in.

“Mr. Citrione. How are you?”

“Good, good. How’s the knee?” asks Vince through the rolled down window of the car.

The older man in the suit crouches into a surprisingly limber athletic pose and rattles off a few hooks and jabs, laughing. “Feeling great. That doc of yours really knows what he’s doing.”

“I told ya? Didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah,” says the man. “Glad I finally listened. You’re good to go in, sir.”

“Ciao,” says Vince, before driving us into a strange room that is a somewhat tight fit for the car. I turn my head, looking around in confusion. There are no doors in the room, just a single opening behind us. With a mechanical screech, a pane of glass rises behind us, and I realize we’re in a glass box. It begins a smooth upward motion, all while we’re still in the car.

“You have an elevator for your car?” I ask, amazed. He dressed nice, but a place like this in downtown New York must be astronomically expensive. How much money does he make?

Vince just gives me a slight smirk. The elevator keeps going until I think we must be near the top of the building. What, does he have the penthouse suite of the apartment, too? I glance up and see stars approaching through the glass ceiling of the elevator. I’m confused for a moment until the elevator clicks into place in a huge room with a large window on the ceiling. It is the penthouse.