Carlo stepped forward, glanced down at the Snakes and Ladders board scattered across the floor.
“Are you a child?” he asked.
“No, Boss,” Giorgio replied like a soldier standing at attention.
“Do I pay you to play games with her?”
“No, Boss.”
“What the hell are you two doing in here?”
“You gave her permission to come to the library.”
“I don’t remember givingyoupermission to be alone with her behind closed doors, playing games. I was very clear: you’re to keep your distance.”
“I’m sorry, Boss. It won’t happen again.”
I jumped in, hoping to shut this whole ridiculous thing down. “It was my fault.”
But Carlo gave me a look that shut me up before I could get another word out.
He took a few more steps forward, ordering Giorgio with a firm tone. “Don’t get close to her. Don’t touch her. No games. No jokes. Especially not behind closed doors. Your job is to protect her. Nothing more. Understood?”
“Yes, Boss.”
Carlo gave a small nod toward the door. “You’re dismissed.”
Once Giorgio left, Carlo stood there, one brow raised, staring at me while I still sat on the floor. Ishould’vebeen angry, furious that he still didn’t trust me. But in that moment… none of it mattered.
What stunned me was Carlo’s head. He had hair. Not a lot, maybe an inch. But still, it was there. He’d grown it out. For me. This was, without question, the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me.
I stared at him, my pulse kicking up, butterflies fluttered in my stomach. His gaze had softened a little, but it was still far from gentle. Who knew that only a bit of hair could turn a terrifying mob boss into Prince freaking Charming?
And from a purely physical standpoint? He was gorgeous. That raw, masculine kind of gorgeous that made you want to make really bad decisions. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the edge of his tattoo. His entire presence—magnetic, dangerous—was impossible to ignore.
He crouched down in front of me. “And you… you shouldn’t—”
I didn’t let him finish. There were better things to do with those lips. I pulled him close and kissed him like I meant it. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted his weight pressing me into the floor.
I pulled back suddenly, throwing him off balance. With swift, practiced reflexes, he caught himself with one hand, bracing his weight so he wouldn’t crush me, while his other arm slid around my waist and gently guided me down.
Then he kissed me back, rough, hungry, out of control. He bit my bottom lip, tugged it between his teeth for a bit, then pulled back to look at me. His breath was ragged, eyes dark with pure, possessive heat.
“No one touches what’s mine. Ever,” he growled.
He dove for my neck, lips trailing hot, wet kisses along my skin. His hand slipped under my T-shirt, found my breast through my bra, and squeezed. I released a long, needy moan, tilting my head to give him more access, inviting every second of his delicious assault.
He yanked my T-shirt and bra over my head, tossing them aside, then went straight for my jeans, unbuttoning them fast and dragging both jeans and panties down together. I bent my knees, pressing my legs together, trying to shield myself from the fire in his eyes.
His chest was rising and falling like he’d run ten miles. Still kneeling between my thighs, he stared up at me with a raw, unfiltered hunger. Then, slowly he began unbuttoning his shirt. One button at a time.
With each click, a jolt of heat shot through me, making the ache between my legs nearly unbearable. Without thinking, my hands moved to my breasts. I squeezed them gently, moaning as the last button came undone.
He shrugged off his shirt, then leaned in, one arm slipping under my back to lift me. He spread the shirt beneath me, shielding my skin from the chill of the marble.
Then he straightened, his gaze holding mine with quiet authority. “Arms above your head. Don’t move.”
In that moment, embarrassment didn’t exist. My body wasn’t mine anymore. It belonged to him. I obeyed without hesitation, raising my arms as his eyes dropped to my breasts.
