Page 129 of Don’t Say Mafia

“This isn’t over,” Cruz called after us.

I glanced back over my shoulder. “I look forward to taking all your money next time,” I said.

Laughter followed us from the room, but my focus was no longer divided between cards and competition.

All I could focus on was the heat of his body beside me, the way his stride matched mine perfectly . . . the way his thumb kept tracing that same slow circle over my skin like he couldn’t stop touching me.

We didn’t speak, but we didn’t need to. The promise was in every step, every brush of his hand, every glance he slid my way.

Whatever happened next . . . I was finally ready.

CHAPTER 29

EDEN

By the time we stepped off the private elevator into Jagger’s penthouse, the noise of the casino felt like a different world. Downstairs had been all laughter and chips clacking and Lawson loudly insisting he was “due” for a win. Up here, everything was . . . more.

The soft click of the elevator sealing shut behind us had my pulse kicking up hard, a frantic little rhythm that echoed in my ears, my throat, and between my legs. We were finally alone now, and there was no one to interrupt whatever happened next.

I felt his eyes trace the line of my spine through the thin fabric of the dress. It felt like a weight as it slid down to the small of my back and then lower, lingering on the curve of my ass.

“Your friends are really nice,” I spit out nervously as I slipped off my heels. “They’re ridiculous and over the top . . . and intense . . . but you can tell how much you all care for each other.”

“They liked you,” he murmured as he stepped up behind me and softly touched my waist. The touch was light, almost gentle, but the way his thumb stroked over the silk made my knees weaken.

“Did they?” I whispered.

He made a humming sound as his lips brushed the shell of my ear. I couldn’t help but shiver. “Why are you shaking, Eden?” he asked as he slowly licked along my skin.

I swallowed, trying to find my voice. “Because we’re going to . . . I mean, you’re probably wanting⁠—”

He pulled back just enough to turn me around. “You think I’m probably wanting what?” he asked. “To drag you straight to the bedroom? To rip that dress off and fuck you against the nearest wall?”

My cheeks burned. “Something like that.”

He smiled wickedly. “I could. I want to. Badly.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower, tracing the neckline of the dress like he was already picturing it on the floor. “But I’m not going to.”

I blinked. “You’re . . . not?”

He shook his head, his thumb still stroking maddening circles on my hip. “Not yet.”

I stared at him, confused and aching and embarrassingly wet between my thighs. “Then . . . what?”

He leaned in, and his lips brushed mine in a barely there kiss that was just enough to make me chase him when he pulled back.

“We’re going to finish the game we were playing,” he said.

My brain short-circuited. “The . . . game?”

“The poker game,” he said lightly, seeming to enjoy the fact that I was malfunctioning because of him. “You were winning downstairs. I thought we should see how far that streak goes.”

I stood there staring at him because I was pretty sure he’d lost his mind. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

He held my gaze for one more charged second, then straightened and jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Come with me.”

My heart kicked again, but I followed him anyway. “Where are we going?” I asked.