Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I say, pausing at the door.
He adjusts his shirt. His collar is crumpled from where I must’ve grabbed it in our passion. I can still feel his body imprinted against mine.
“I’m just trying to do the right thing,” he replies, echoing his text from last night.
“Still, I mean it.”
“I’ll call you when we need you back here,” he says.
“Uh, okay.”
Maybe I should stop questioning this, but I still feel like none of this is happening. Yet the tingling from the kiss is real. The blazing between my legs, my nipples suddenly sore and sensitive against my bra is real. The aftershocks of the Devil’s Breath—the fear, the sleeplessness—all tell me this is real.
I almost leave, but there’s one question I need the answer to. It will make me sound needy as hell, but I can’t stop myself from asking it. “So when will I see you next?”
I try to make it sound casual, almost a throwaway, but I give myself away at the end. My voice hitches, making me seem desperate.
“I’m not sure,” he says, looking down at the desk.
It’s like he thinks I can’t see the outline of his manhood. I can see his muscles pushing against his suit like the beast from last night is trying to escape.
“Well, see you, then.”
When I open the door, my back to him, he says, “Maya means ‘dream.’” A shudder moves through me at the huskiness in his voice, but an instinct stops me from turning. Maybe it’s because I can imagine him smoldering or staring, obsessed. The reality might be blunter. “It fits.”
I leave awkwardly, walking down the stairs, wondering if that was as one-sided as it felt. Even the comment at the end could’ve been to make me feel better. My body burns with every step. Maybe it’s for the best that’s the furthest we ever go. We won’t ever speak about it again. That will be the end of us, a few minutes of steamy passion. Honestly, it’s the most passion I’ve ever experienced.
If that’s it, can it be enough? Can I let him go?
I need to relax. With Mom sick, with the stuff from last night, I’ve got so much to think about—one step, one breath at a time. Let him go like I have him to begin with.
Putting on my game face, I leave the hallway and enter the sanctuary.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TRISTAN
Once Maya leaves, I have to take a minute to compose myself. My body is in high-alert mode, ready to claim her. Fuck, she felt so good, and it was so damn hot when she threw herself at me. It was so hot to catch her, kiss her, hold her body, feel those curves. She feels just how she looks: sweet and perfect.
I have to relax. The Trentini contact will be here soon.
Taking out my phone, I text Maya, Let me know what you want to do about Miles and if you want to lodge a formal complaint.
I think he’s just socially awkward. You should give him another chance.
She’s too damn nice for her own good, or maybe she’s right. The sleazeball last night was putting on a show. Miles just seemed nervous. The sleazeball is the reason I need Maya gone.
Carlo Conti, an associate of the Trentinis, the man whose jaw I clocked and who nearly bit his tongue off, is coming to handle this deal. Apparently, part of my punishment is swallowing my pride and dealing with this drugging asshole.
Before he arrives, I pace my office. I need to get myself ready mentally and logistically. I can’t let my thoughts go to Maya, or they won’t leave. That kiss at the end was something special. I’ve never felt anything like that. Not that I’m some kissing expert, but damn, it was fire.
She is fire. It burns me up just thinking about her, so I force myself to stop.
Soon, Carlo is here. Raffie sends me a text with several dog emojis. I get the message. I need to be on a leash. I head out to the entrance, finding Carlo leaning against the sign, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.
“Morning,” he says, his voice awkward from his bitten tongue.
“Morning, Carlo,” I growl. I can tell my suit, hair, and overall image is throwing him off. If there’s one thing Mob guys respect, it’s looking slick. It instantly makes a man seem in control. He seems anything but. “Let’s talk in my office.”
“I guess you call the shots,” he says sarcastically.
He’s about a decade younger than me, around Maya’s age. I wonder if that makes me a bad man or has any bearing on me that I haven’t considered her age an obstacle. A lot is stopping us, namely that I can’t let it happen, but not that.
In the office, Carlo folds his arms and leans against the wall. He still looks disheveled from last night.