Matched to the Mafia – Seeking Curves Read Online Jenika Snow

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Mafia, Romance Tags Authors: Jenika Snow Advertisement

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God help her, because I was going to have her as mine.

2

Bianca

I’d never seen myself working for a matchmaking company. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with it, but I’d always believed in true love, and this skeptical part of me didn’t see how that was possible when you were hooked up with someone by a company.

As the daughter of middle-class parents, I knew the value of working hard for what you wanted. My parents had been high school sweethearts, had fallen in love when they were young, and stayed together even though it was hard as hell being as young as they were.

And then my mother had gotten pregnant with me when she was still a teen. I’d known and seen how hard they had to work just to put food on the table. But they overcame it, had succeeded, and it was because of that and seeing what true love could do to people that made me even more skeptical.

Or maybe it was because I was single and just sour about being alone.

Or maybe it was just jealousy as I watched all these gorgeous women and well-off men find their happily ever after. And that's what I saw day in and day out while working at a company that catered to that demographic.

But my personal beliefs on what it took to be happy and find love didn’t affect my job. I made sure to smile, always spoke positively about the company, and when the word “love” was uttered, I gave the same spiel I gave to everyone: that we all deserved to have that special someone in our lives, and Seeking Curves was dedicated to guaranteeing every client found just that.

I pushed all of that from my mind, because dwelling on things I had no control over wouldn't help the outcome—whatever that would be for me. I started doing what I did best at Seeking Curves—data entry. As the secretary of one of the up-and-coming online matchmaking companies in Los Angeles, the main office wasn't really used for clients. Most everything—as it was done everywhere these days—was done online.

I’d been busy working for the last twenty minutes when the sun caught something outside and flashed a gleaming light into the front office. I lifted my focus from the computer and saw a shiny black Mercedes pull up. And although I didn’t know much about cars, I could tell right off the bat that particular Benz didn’t look like one of the “regular” ones I saw in LA. No, this one was clearly in a league of its own. It was sporty and sleek, and I could see it on the road in some illegal street race.

And I didn't have to see the driver to know who was behind the wheel. Because I’d seen that car before… a month ago, when I realized I would forever compare all men to him.

Enzo.

I hadn’t spoken to him when he’d come to the office four weeks ago, but I heard his deep voice—even now, it still played through my head like a caress. His voice pierced through everything else that day and had this tightening start in my belly.

But I hadn’t allowed myself to dissect the other things his voice had caused within my body. Because the physical reaction to the sight and sound of him, even the smell of his rich and spicy cologne as it surrounded me when he walked by, had been so sudden and foreign that it confused and scared the hell out of me.

Aside from knowing his first name, the only other thing I’d found out was that he owned part of Seeking Curves and had come in to look over figures and trends of the business.

I was frozen in place, my hands hovering over the keyboard, my eyes feeling as big as saucers as I stared out the front windows and watched the driver side door open. And then he got out, all long, strong limbs covered in a dark suit. He was tall, well over six foot, and despite the sleek material that covered him from neck to ankle, I could see the muscular power underneath.

He shut the door and turned, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, the sun shining down and making his short, inky-black hair gleam. He walked with an air of authority, his suit molded to his hard, big body, my eyes drawing to the way I could see the muscles flexing underneath the fabric.

I realized I was breathing harder as I let myself look the length of him, at the way the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone at his collar. The swatch of smooth olive skin could be seen, a contrast to the snow-colored material of his shirt.

My body started tingling, my nipples hardening under my silk blouse, the private place between my thighs softening and heating. Oh God, I was getting wet. I smoothed my hands up and down my pencil-skirt clad thighs, my palms suddenly damp as adrenaline rushed through my veins. And still I couldn’t take my focus off the man coming closer.

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