Page 73 of Worth Loving You

My jaw fell, my head tipping back. Closing my eyes against the rain, I tugged at the sides of his neck and arched my spine toward him.

He dipped his chin and nibbled my neck to my ear. “You’re so beautiful, kitten. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Like a needle scraping across a record, reality screeched into my eardrums, and I abruptly shoved him away. Yanking the front of my jacket closed, I slapped my hands to my face and sobbed hysterically.

What was wrong with me? I had never been in a relationship before, so I didn’t know how to handle temptation. Was this an indication of the type of girlfriend I was? Did this mean I wasn’t going to be good at it? Had being alone as long as I had turned me into someone incapable of commitment?

Where did I get off being upset about Milo’s affairs when I was making out with my bodyguard in the middle of the streets of Chicago during a downpour?

I was a hypocrite. I didn’t deserve monogamy because clearly, I was unable to give it. Would I be like this with other men, too? Was I subconsciously feeling restless, being twenty-six years old, having just lost my virginity a few months earlier, and being locked down in a committed relationship? Maybe part of me wanted to explore and have fun, like Jennifer.

She had countless lovers in her past. She knew variety, what it was like to have different experiences. What if this was my inner psyche trying to tell me I needed that, too, before committing to a life with one man.

Wyatt grabbed my elbow, yanked me back, and crushed my lips, his beefy hands gripping my cheeks so I couldn’t escape.

Escape. I should be trying to escape. Instead, I was returning the kiss, my body aching for something more aggressive and physical.

Sanity crept through the thickest fog of desire I’d ever been encompassed with, and I stamped my heel on his foot.

He grunted and staggered backward, nearly tripping over my bag behind him. “Son of a bitch,” he shouted, shaking his leg.

“Don’t touch me!” I shrieked through my blubbering sobs.

“Oh,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I think you want me to touch you. I think you want me to do more than touch you, kitten.”

I charged at him, swatting both my hands, landing them anywhere I could. “No! Shut your mouth. I hate you. I hate you! You are so fired. I’m telling Milo and you’re going to be fired.”

His expression hardened and he gripped a wrist, twisting it to the side to control me, but not hurt. “The fact that you just threw that pathetic threat at me, proves you don’t have a clue about your perfect little boyfriend. You have no idea what you got yourself into with Milo Pampinella.”

That wasn’t the first time he said something like that. What was that supposed to mean? What was he insinuating? If he had something to say, why wouldn’t he just say it and stop with his mind games?

Giving in to the rage, I hissed, “Stop dropping hints and say whatever the hell you’re dying to tell me.”

He leaned closer, his eyes dark, his lips grazing mine, and whispered one, simple word. “Mafia.”

My heart stopped and plummeted. A sudden burst of adrenaline, I reared my palm back and slammed it across his face. He stumbled and let me go, so I snatched my bag off the ground and started running.

“Think about it, kitten,” he shouted after me. “Put the pieces together, figure it out.”

I spun around and charged toward him again, slapping him a second time. “Shut up!” I screeched. “Shut your fucking mouth. You’re lying. Why are you lying? You’re a fucking liar.”

He shook his head, unphased by the second slap. “You are too smart to be this naïve. Stop thinking with your pussy and use that head for the first time since you met Milo.”

“Fuck you!” I screamed, drawing attention our way from the few people still on the sidewalk. “You are so fired,” I snickered bitterly, grinding my teeth. “I’ll find a new bodyguard, I don’t need or want you.”

Spinning around to storm off, he shouted, “Why the hell do you think you need a bodyguard, huh?”

I froze, the distant alarm bells I’d been ignoring for months getting a little louder.

“What the fuck do you think he’s shipping all around the world, Chazzy? How many of those business dinners he takes you to, do they actually speak in English? Does it sound a little Italian, French, or even Russian?”

His voice was right behind me, the heat from his body encompassing. I couldn’t move, puzzle pieces in my brain shifting around, a few clicking into place.

“Phone calls at all hours of the day and night, unexpected trips that send him out of the country. Unmarked packages coming to his place, going to yours, and you’re not allowed to open them.

“Drugs, kitten. Drugs, guns, ammo, laundered money, jewels, stolen identities and documents, even stolen art. All being shipped right under the law’s nose through his company, most of it being sold on the black market.”

“Shut up,” I whimpered, not sounding nearly as strong as I wanted.