Page 5 of The Mobster’s Nurse

But I can't.

"Are you going to hurt me?" I ask.

He suddenly takes one huge step toward me. Right up close. His big hands grip my shoulders — firm, but nothing like a threat. More like punctuation. He leans down so his face is close to mine. His eyes peer into mine. His warm breath moves over me.

Nothing about his grip feels dangerous. Commanding, yes. Possessive, maybe. But not dangerous. I feel secure in his presence. Even though his physical size and his dominant vibe send my pulse haywire.

Unbelievably, my nipples tingle and harden against my bra. My underwear rubs against my lips and clit, making me ache.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" he snaps. "You think I'm standing on that balcony up there, watching you strut across the ranch with those big hips and those wide naïve eyes and that pretty smile … and I'm thinking to myself, I want to hurt her? Is that what you think? Really?"

"Let me go," I mutter. "Please." I try to pull back, turn my eyes away from his.

He moves even closer. His nose brushes mine. I let out a whimpering sound that annoys me. I'm never like this. Never let guys twist my head and heart. But Luca Moretti isn't just … some guy.

"Come with me. Now. Or I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you."

He lowers his voice even further. "And, if I do that, I won't be able to stop myself from palming that thick ass. And, if I did that, I bet I'd feel you getting wet through those jeans. Fucking soaked. And I'd⁠—"

Is he serious? Is he testing me? Trying to see if I'll flinch or fold. He's the kind of man who uses words to intimidate and challenge. He’s provocative, for sure. Throws his size around me. This is … theater. Infuriating, but intoxicating. And the worst part? It works. My body fucking loves it and reacts.

"Um—" I bite my lip, try to compose myself, and speak with some kind of sense, but no words come out. So, I put a hand against his chest and push myself away. At least the length of my arm. For a brief moment, I feel his powerful, rocky muscles against my hand. He's right. I am getting wet, too wet. My underwear feels sticky.

He steps back the moment I push. Immediately. That registers.

"Excuse me? Is that how you talk to strangers?" I demand.

Another smirk. I love and hate it. "I'm not asking you again."

He strides across the ranch. Tingles dance across my skin. I wonder what would happen if I just walked in the other direction. Would he do what he said, grab me, touch me? Do I want him to?

Honestly? Part of me does. The part I usually keep under a very tight lid. But I also know he wouldn't. Not really. I figure that if he actually wants to grab me, harm me, against my wishes, he wouldn’t be standing ten feet away, waiting. He's giving me options. Making me choose. But damn, he's making it extraordinarily difficult for me to choose wisely.

I'm here for the animals. Not to get involved with a mobster.

I follow. Because if I don't and he touches me, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop myself from moaning. Giving him the satisfaction of knowing he's getting to me.

He walks past the horse enclosure to the big villas. I rarely have cause to go in here. Stepping across the threshold feels strange somehow. He stands in front of a door, looks at me expectantly, his near-red eyes burning into me.

He's like a beast barely holding himself back. I want to squeeze my legs together as his words echo around my mind.

He steps aside, then nods to the room.

I enter, brushing close by him. He's not wearing any cologne. But he has a manly, musky scent which I like far too much.

On the wall, there are photos of the equine veterinary staff. All nine of us. Daryl's photo sits at the top. Something about seeing it pinned there like evidence makes my stomach dip. He's smiling, too. A big, toothy smile. Unnervingly, too big. It's like one of those scenes you see in a police station on TV, with all the criminals pinned up.

Except, we're not criminals.

Luca shuts the door behind me. I shiver slightly at the click.

He walks up behind me. I don't turn. But I feel his heat. His presence.

When he places his hands on my shoulders, I'm shocked at how gentle it feels. But there's power under it too, a twitching fierceness like a horse ready to bolt.

Or fuck.

"Who can't we trust?" he says.