“No,” I whisper. “There isn’t.”
He gives a quiet, humorless laugh. “You think I’m dangerous.”
Isn’t he? He certainly looks like a man I wouldn’t want to cross. “You are dangerous.”
“And you like it.”
I whip my head toward him. “Stop.”
He tilts his head slightly, eyes glinting. “Why? Because it’s true?”
My face burns hot enough to light the tablecloth on fire. I check to see if my parents have noticed our hushed conversation, and I’m relieved to see the auction has caught their attention—at least one of the paintings donated has. “This is not the time or place to discuss any of this.”
“It’s exactly the place.”
He shifts closer, barely an inch, but it feels like a gravitational pull I’m helpless against. His hand drifts to my knee under the table, warm and firm and familiar in a way that makes my stomach somersault.
I stiffen immediately. “Don’t.” My denial of him is more like a breathy plea, hardly a warning.
He starts a slow stroke up the inside of my thigh—a gentle, maddening pass of his thumb. Nothing graphic, nothing overt, but enough to make my lungs seize. I shove his hand off, quick and sharp. My mother glances at me, curious but polite enough not to ask. My father doesn’t even turn; he’s too busy lifting the auction paddle to try to win a painting for my mother.
Stephen smiles like I’ve just confirmed some private theory he had about me. “You’re blushing,” he murmurs.
“Because you’re being impossible and trying to embarrass me.”Because I want you, and I’m furious with you at the same time. Why couldn’t you be connected to a typical Connecticut family instead of the mafia?We couldn’t be from more opposing backgrounds if we tried.
I don’t want boring and normal; I want him. His look, the darkness he exudes, is part of his charm and why I pursued him in the first place. I’m sick of being the good girl and he makes me want to be so very bad.
“I’m being honest.”
“You’re being reckless and an ass, and you know it.”
I meet his gaze. He shrugs. Gah, he’s maddening—and why does he have to look so irresistibly sharp in his suit tonight? I want to tear it off him. I want him in my bed. Enough with the car sex—I need all of him.
I close my eyes and fight to control myself. I’m supposed to be breaking it off with this man, not drooling over him.
“You didn’t seem to mind reckless the other night. I like it when you take control.”
My entire body floods with heat. It’s the memory—the grip of his hands on my hips, the soft, shocked sound that escaped my throat when he kissed me, when he thrust deep his very clever cock. The way I let myself unravel in the front seat of his car like a woman who has no responsibilities or consequences.
“Stop,” I whisper, desperate. “Please.”
He watches me for a long moment. Something cold and wounded flickers across his face. “So you do regret us.”
“I…” My throat tightens. “Stephen, my father is the Chief of Police.”
“I noticed.” His response is dry and dripping with bitterness.
“I’m a lawyer. My whole life, my whole career, everything I’ve worked for—I can’t risk it for?—”
“For a Moretti?” he finishes for me, voice flat.
“That’s not what I said.” I keep thinking, if I could just be certain the Morettis were truly clean—if their family ties to the underworld were really severed—maybe things would be different. But I lost my brother to gang violence. My father serves as a cop. How could I possibly let myself date a man whose life is still entangled in that world?
“It’s what you meant.”
I shake my head, panicked by how wrong that is—how much I don’t want it to be true. “Stephen?—”
“No.” He leans in, jaw tight. “Say it straight. You think I’ll ruin your precious, perfect life. That because I didn’t have it as good as you did as a kid, I’m not worthy of you now.”
