Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
“Just remember that I tried to stop,” he warned, his hand pressing against my lower back, just above the curve of my butt.
I twined my arms around his neck. “I won’t forget a moment of tonight. Not ever.”
His lips brushed mine, the kiss a whisper at first. A promise of more to come. Then his hands slid around my waist, pulling me closer as he deepened the kiss until the world narrowed to the feel of his mouth and the firm press of his body.
We were surrounded by priceless art that I normally would have given my left arm to peruse at my leisure, but the man holding me was the only thing that mattered. My awareness had narrowed to Aston. My entire focus was on him and the kiss he was giving me.
It was my first beyond a simple peck, but even I could tell this wasn’t a simple kiss. Aston didn’t rush, his lips sliding against mine in a slow and thorough exploration as though he meant to learn every inch of me with his mouth and tongue.
When we finally broke apart, my knees were so weak that I had to cling to his shoulders in order to remain upright. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my wits about me if you keep kissing me like that.”
He smiled, wicked and unrepentant. “Bien.”
5
ASTON
Ichecked my watch for the fourth time.
It didn’t go unnoticed by Rafa. He never missed anything. His stare was the kind that made most men squirm—or run.
“Somewhere else you need to be, Aston?” he asked, voice even and unreadable.
Rafa was a master of that—masking every emotion behind a wall of ice. One of the many reasons he made a damn good Mafia underboss. With his wife or other people he was extremely close to, he could be soft, funny, and almost normal. But with the rest of the world? Ruthless. Efficient. The kind of man who didn’t waste time on warnings.
I wasn’t stupid enough to lie to him. “I have a date.”
His mouth twitched—basically a full grin for Rafa. “So I hear.”
My eyes cut to Domenico, sprawled on the couch as though he didn’t have a care in the world, thumbs tapping at his phone. It didn’t look like he was listening. Which meant he was absolutely listening.
Domenico absorbed everything. If he wasn’t watching, he was still processing—voices, movements, exits, threats. Probably texting Gabbi while mapping out the fastest route to kill a man with a stapler. He could most likely tell you how many times I’d shifted in this damn chair since I sat down.
I narrowed my eyes at him anyway.
He didn’t look up—just raised one hand in mock surrender. “Gabriella.”
Putain de merde.
Of course, Gabbi. His wife and Rafa’s sister.
He didn’t need to say more. Domenico rarely did. The man treated words like a precious commodity. Unless it was about Gabbi—then he had plenty to say. Usually in the form of guttural warnings to any man who dared look at her too long.
Which was mildly inconvenient since she worked for me.
I huffed out a breath. “I figured Gabbi was the source. But since you two are—how do we say—attachés comme des chiens… and gossip like your wives, I’m assuming it was Domenico who told you, Rafa.”
Domenico just grunted while Rafa smirked like a man who’d earned the insult and didn’t give a fuck.
Then Rafa asked casually, “Who is she?”
The question was anything but casual, and I stiffened. “No one, right now. But if that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
He would have to know about Kerrigan eventually since I wouldn’t be letting her go anytime soon. However, as long as I kept her ignorant of The Family and our operations, Rafa wouldn’t interfere. Still, I wasn’t ready to share her yet.
Rafa rubbed the scruff on his jaw, his enigmatic brown eyes once again studying me. Then he nodded. “Va bene.”
“Let me know when you have a solid date for the next shipment,” I requested. “There have been some rumblings on the art scene about a couple of the paintings. The paperwork will have to be spotless before we can add them to the next showing at Belladonna.”
“Certo.”
“Merci,” I said as I pushed to my feet.
The mishmash of Italian and French in our conversation would probably seem comical to most. But Rafa and I spoke both languages, so we barely noticed it anymore.
We’d met in Rafa’s downtown office, located in a high-rise next door to Vellum & Vine. So I headed back to the museum to change my clothes.
Since we’d met at the gala and then I’d taken her on a date after work, Kerrigan had only seen me in a suit and tuxedo. Our plans for this evening were more relaxed, so I dressed in jeans and a dark gray, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up just above my elbows.