Page 83 of Revenge on the Mafia

The idea was hilarious. Gentleman. Not even when I was dead.

But maybe I’d just lean close, steal a sniff, and leave a kiss behind. Like I’d done the nights before. I convinced myself that was a good plan, but when I turned the corner into the bedroom, she turned it into a shit plan. She was wide awake, seated on the bed, legs crossed and book in hand.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Can’t she give me one fucking break?

An agitated grunt caught in my lungs.

She looked up and smiled. Like she was too sleepy to remember that she hated me.

This woman was going to be the death of me. Literally. Dressed in some silky black thing, she was the bait, waiting for me to step in and take a bite. Yet all I could think of was that I’d have to find the idiot who’d designed it and replicate it in fuchsia.

There was no point in this. Being in her room wasn’t doing me any good. Yet I couldn’t make myself turn and walk away. She looked at me like she sensed the war inside me. Like she knew I’d rather put a knife to my chest than walk away. I refused to let her see me like this. But instead of walking away, I staggered a step forward.

She frowned. “Are you okay?”

I wasn’t going to fuck her. I couldn’t. I didn’t have anything else to tell her than the fucking truth, and that was only going to end one way.

Did she smell like a rockrose in the night? Warm, sweet with a hint of smoke that grounded her to me. Another step. Her book fell to her side. My name falling from her lips twisted my insides. “Niccolò.”

“Nico.” Why did my voice sound so fucking weak? “No one calls me that.”

She tipped her head in thought. Curls coiling on her naked shoulders, rolling down her back, aching to be in my fists. She sank her teeth into her lower lip. My dick swelled behind my pants. “What if I want to?”

I frowned. “Want to what?”

“Call you Niccolò.”

Jesus, the way she said my name. It sounded like she’d dropped to her knees and begged for my cock. “Call me whatever you want.” She could call me ‘mine’ too, if she wanted.

We stared at each other, silence the master in the room because I was for sure not the one in control. I took in the book next to her. The bare torso of a man on the cover. “What the fuck are you reading?”

She shoved it hurriedly under the pillow. “Nothing.”

I scrubbed my hand over my jaw. How many fucking men did I have to kill for this woman? “Why’re you still awake?”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Maybe you need a nightcap?”

“No thanks. No more alcohol for me.”

“Why not?”

She shook her head. Kept her mouth sealed. How the hell had I missed that? She shifted under my intent gaze. Uncurling her feet from beneath her, she stretched them out like a fucking red carpet to heaven. All tanned skin. A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. Fuchsia pink painted toes.

I stepped closer, hooked my hand around one ankle, and lifted it off the bed. Then I placed her tiny pinky toe in my mouth and sucked. She gasped. Then giggled.

I sucked her ring toe.

“Stop it,” she whined.

“Then tell me why you don’t drink.”

She shook her head. I moved on to her middle toe. “Okay. Okay.” She held out her hand in an attempt to stop me. “Poor decisions.”

“As in?” I encouraged.