Page 102 of Mafia and Gold Digger

Jogging out to my car, I let out a long breath, and a low amused laugh leaves me at the same time.

God and all the saints as my witness, Emerald Fiorelli is going to be the death of me. But it’s a death I can’t wait for…

CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

EMERALD

My knee is tucked under my chin from where I sit in the empty chair in our bedroom. Saint has been gone all day, leaving before I even managed to get up. And I miss him. Not just the usual morning wake ups I get—but alsohim. The warmth of him wrapped around me as he holds me. The smell of him when he ducks back in from the private balcony after a smoke or comes in fresh from the shower.

This is a mess, and it’s supposed to all be fake. But for me? It’s something real.

And I can see the way he looks at me.That flicker of emotion which is gone in a flash. He cares about me in some roundabout way. Otherwise, wouldn’t he have pushed me off onto someone else to play house with?

Progress is slow, but I know I’m starting to knock those walls down. The way he is with the kids. The way he seeks me out at home to actually spend time together. That can’t just be keeping up the act. Can it?

I bite my lip as my other foot skims the hardwood floor. Things with us are good. Surprisingly, so. But letting myself forget that he doesn’t exactly feel the same way is a recipe for disaster.

I hear him before I see him. The distinct footfall down the hall, the way the door opens. It’s late. A lot later than normal, but I knew he’d want to play a game if I was still up. So, here I sit, looking out the window into the beautiful yard now equipped with a jungle gym, as the New York night sky greets me.

“Em?”

“Hey.” I smile, turning toward him. He looks…rough. For a man usually so composed, his mask is slipping more and more around me. Or I’ve just gotten better at reading him. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

“You look…tired.”

The expression on his face morphs into something wicked. “Yeah, well if someone hadn’t kept me up all last night, I’d have gotten my beauty sleep.”

“Me?” I laugh as the memories of it flood me.

“Yeah, you, Miss Can’t Keep Her Hands To Herself.” He moves toward me, that dark gleam in his eyes doing nothing to settle the storm of butterflies in my stomach. Even after weeks of having each other, of getting to taste and experience Saint in the flesh, I still want more. I stillneedmore.

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’m a perfect gentleman.”

I snort a laugh. “You started it last night, and then again a few hours later.”

He’s standing in front of me now. He traps me in the chair with both of his hands on either armrest. His lips brush the shell of my ear, and I suck in a sharp breath. “Is that a complaint? Because I don’t recall you telling me no.” His nose skims along my throat before he places a small kiss behind my ear. “Why are you up so late?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Yeah?” He laughs, and the feel of it against my skin only seems to drive me higher. “Why’s that?”

“Our nightly chess game, remember?”

His head turns toward the reset chessboard. “Okay. One game, then we’ll do something else.”

I roll my eyes, trying to play it off as if I don’t love the thought of that. He pulls back, taking his heat and scent with him. And I fight the urge to pout. “So, you going to tell me why you looked so rough?” I ask as casually as possible as I slide the pawn into position.

“Just…same shit, new day. Your move.”

My eyes drop to the board, but the ache between my legs is hard to ignore.

“Distracted?”

“What? No, I’m fine.” I move my piece forward.

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