Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
But she’s still a mafia princess, even with her second-rate mobster father trying to keep up appearances.
“What—” She swallows, her eyes locked on mine, the stainless-steel watering can in her hand starting to tremble as she swings her head toward the back door. “How did you get in—?”
“My house, remember?”
She squints, shaking her head as waves of her dark espresso-colored hair twine over her shoulders. “Mom’s house.”
I shrug, nodding at the card on the floor.
“What’s this?”
“A problem.” I seethe as her eyes flash to the gun resting on my thigh. My thoughts are sick. The things I want to do with her sweet face cast me in a shroud of shame.
“Daddy…” she starts, with that flash of the little girl I used to know working to play me to her advantage. “What’s going on?”
“You haven’t called me that in a long time, Little Lamb,” I say as she bends to pick up the card, leaving the watering can next to her feet. “Sit.”
“I haven’t seen you in a long time,” she hisses with a poke of her tongue. “You deserted me.”
That truth lances me into my soul but there’s no time for therapy right now.
I point my weapon at the chair opposite mine as her wild green eyes flick from the card to me, then to the chair. Fear tightens her pink lips and I note the tension in her shoulders.
“I—I’m… what’s going on?” she stutters, clicking her teeth together nervously as she stares at the card, then at me.
I run my tongue over my bottom lip, nearly tasting her words from here. “I said sit.” I sniff, clearing my throat, as lust darkens my vision.
“You’re not my father.” She narrows her eyes, that sassy defiant side of hers coming out to play. “Or my boss.”
Good. I want some fight.
“First I’m Daddy then I’m not your father?” I cluck, turning the gun sideways, aiming at the chair.
I cross my legs and rest my free hand between them as I wait with no attempt to hide it when I grab my nuts and adjust things so they’re not so fucking uncomfortable.
“You’re a tool.” She mumbles with a roll of her eyes, then sidesteps to the chair and lowers herself.
The smooth silk of her skin draws my eye as she crosses her legs, the white hem of her dress rising, showing that indent of long muscle on the side of her thigh that makes my dick weep.
“Nothing happens in this town I don’t know about. Especially when it comes to me and mine.”
“He just showed up at the door.” She flings her hand forward gesturing toward the hallway with an exasperated exhale. “I had no choice, he said he would—I didn’t...”
“Didn’t what? Talk to him about me?” I tsk on a snort, shaking my head. “Now, princess, we both know that’s a lie. I don’t like it when you lie to me. You shouldn’t disrespect your father like that. But I know you prefer to think of me as your daddy.”
She shifts forward, shooting the card back my way. It cuts through the air, bouncing off my chest, then pinwheels toward the floor to land by my feet.
“You’re not my Daddy. I’ll talk to who I want. I’ll do what I want.”
“I need to show that smart mouth what it’s made for and that’s not talking to cops.”
She snorts, hisses a curse word, then, just like that, the games begin.
CHAPTER 3
Ramses
She’s a fast little shit.
She bolts from her seat, losing her flip-flops in the first five steps.
She straight-arms the back door, launching herself down the stone path toward the expanse of green lawn and the woods about a football field’s distance away.
Run, Little Lamb, run. I like your fire. I can’t wait to put it out.
The five miles I pound out on the treadmill every fucking day trying to exhaust myself and get her out of my mind, has my cardio on point.
I’ve been hell-bent on getting inside her hot little man eater for long enough, and now that the time is finally here, something inside me calms.
I’m out of my seat after her while securing my gun into the holster. Within a few strides, I’m in striking distance.
The afternoon heat has sweat breaking over my forehead as the soggy ground squishes under my deliberate steps. In one swoop of my arm, I secure her tiny wrist, tugging at her enough to slow her down but not snap any bones.
I have plenty of experience in the subtle art of pressure points and the force needed to cause real damage.
I think of how her juicy nipples are going to taste as I tug hard enough to spin her around, seeing them pebbling through the white fabric of her dress as I drag her to the ground with a leg sweep that has her falling with a thud onto her back, glaring up at me like I’m the devil himself.