Page 33 of Texting My Mafia Boss

It’s also dangerous. Everything is too close to the surface. Rage. Protection. Love. Possession.Me. All right there, burning, bubbling.

“Come in,” I call when she knocks on the door.

“Are you going to keep your back to me the whole time?” she says, voice fiery.

I turn slowly. Her hair is wild and beautiful, her eyes wilder. Her face is pure determination. I respect that.

“Listen,” she says, kicking the door shut behind her without taking her eyes off me. “I’m just going to say something, and I know you probably can’t just answer it. But I think you can answer it without answering it, if you know what I mean.”

Speaking without speaking, hinting, implicating. These are the rules by which mafiosi live.

“I understand,” I say.

“Are you a mob boss?”

CHAPTER 13

MARA

His face remains composed. His hands behind his back. Finally, he says, “What happens when you enter an airport and the scanner goes off? What do the staff have to do?”

It takes me a moment to understand what he’s hinting at. “Search you? Pat you down?”

He says nothing, just raises an eyebrow.

“Do you think I’m recording you or something?”

Again with the eyebrow raise.

I lift my arms, shooting a fiery look at him. I’m buzzing with adrenaline. First from the run-in with Callum, and now this. He walks around his desk, standing inches from me.

His closeness makes my body feel hot. His breath turns husky, and I know he feels it too, this unspoken tension simmering, waiting. Hungry for us to give into it.

I focus hard on why I came here. His hands slide over my body, pressing against my breasts, my hips, over my legs.

“I could be hiding a device anywhere,” I whimper.

What am I doing? I’m not here for that.

He looks at me, eyes blazing with desire. His hands slide slowly up between my legs. I bite down, but I don’t look away. He’s so confusing and captivating. My head feels like a battlefield.

He pushes down on my groin. A jolt of pleasure sparks through me, then he steps away, breathing hard.

“Satisfied?” I ask.

“Not even close,” he growls.

Despite the craziness, I smile. “I mean, that I’m not recording you?”

“Where’s your phone?” he asks.

“In the playroom.”

“Then let’s walk.”

He moves toward the door. I don’t step aside. I came here angry, but the pat down has turned that into something else. He keeps walking until he’s pressed right up against me. I back away into the door, letting out a gasp. Every near-miss moment, every tantalizing touch, culminates in this collision of madness.

“You’re angry with me, Mara,” he says huskily. “Outraged.”