Page 24 of His Ruthless Obsession

"The food's getting cold."

He chuckles, dark and rich. "Let it." His thumb brushes my bottom lip. "I'm suddenly hungry for something else."

The intensity in his eyes makes my knees weak. Just as he leans in, his phone buzzes. He growls, checking the screen.

"Saved by business." He steps back, adjusting his jacket. "Get dressed, little dove. But know this isn't over."

He turns, taking the call and leaving me breathless and aching. These encounters are going to be the death of me.

The next night is no different.

Thunder cracks overhead as I curl up on the couch with a book. Rain pelts against the windows, turning the city lights into watery smears. The security panel chimes, and I check the display to see Nerio standing in the private elevator, water dripping from his clothes.

I buzz him in, meeting him at the door. "What happened to you?"

"Meeting ran late. Storm hit on the walk over." His white dress shirt clings to his chest like a second skin, outlining every muscle. Water drips from his dark hair onto his face.

"You're soaked through." I tug him inside. "You'll catch pneumonia."

"Worried about me?" That familiar smirk appears despite his drenched state.

"I'm worried about… the floors." I gesture to the puddle forming around his expensive shoes. But in reality, yes. I do care about him. "Strip."

His eyebrow arches. "Demanding."

"Not like that." Heat creeps up my neck. "I can throw your clothes in the dryer."

"If you insist." He shrugs off his jacket, then starts unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. Each newly exposed inch of skin draws my eyes like a magnet.

The shirt hits the floor with a wet slap. My mouth goes dry. His chest and abs look like they were carved from marble, all defined planes and hard ridges. A tattoo I never knew about snakes across his ribs - something in Italian script.

"See something you like?" His hands move to his belt.

I snap my eyes up to his face. "Just... cataloging the artwork."

"Sure." His pants join the pile, leaving him in black boxer briefs that leave little to the imagination. "The dryer? I'd do it myself, but you claim you don't want water everywhere."

"Right." I gather his clothes quickly, trying not to stare at the way water trails down his chest. "There are towels in the bathroom."

When I return from the laundry room, he's rubbing his hair with one of my fluffy white towels, muscles flexing with each movement. He catches me watching and grins.

"You know if you wanted me to undress, all you had to do was ask."

"Shut up." I throw another towel at his face. "You did this on purpose."

"Getting caught in the rain? I'm good, but I can't control the weather." He drapes the towel around his shoulders. "Though I'm not complaining about the results."

Neither am I, but I'll never admit it out loud.

11

NERIO

Idrum my fingers against the mahogany desk, studying the scattered photos before me. Each image shows Mantione soldiers moving product through our territory, getting bolder by the day.

"They're testing us." I slide one particular photo toward Tony, one of my most trusted soldiers. "Moving closer to the club each time."

Tony leans forward, his weathered face tight with concern. "What's the play, boss?"

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