Page 11 of Mafia Boss' Surprise Baby

“To step into Ragucci’s job for a couple of months? I’m a math nerd, always have been. Basically, it’s like you’re offering me a shiny new puzzle I’ve never solved before.”

I want that job. I want to prove to myself and maybe to him that even if I had to slink back from LA defeated, I’m smart and I’m the one who can run rings around old Mr. Ragucci. I’m sharp and hungry to show off my skills, I’m young and energetic. The two things holding me back are how Rory would see it—as putting myself at risk when I promised to work only in the legitimate and legal side of the organization. And the more palpable danger that I’ll make a fool of myself over the guy across the table from me, who would for sure be People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive if they featured crime bosses instead of just actors.

The practical voice in my head, the angel on my shoulder, reminds me that I don’t need a tour of the illegal gaming establishment where I’d be working because I can’t take the job. Spending time alone with Mickey O’Halloran isn’t going to strengthen my resolve to refuse his offer. I already have enough impure thoughts about him to fill up six or seven confessions.

Riding in a car with him, getting on the elevator just the two of us—there are too many possibilities. It’s not a half-hour tour, it’s a minefield of opportunities for me to act like a besotted jackass. It’s a hell of a reason to turn down a job I want—I’m too attracted to my boss. I can’t afford to work closely with him. One smile from him and my panties would fall right off. Not to mention the fact he needs a forensic accountant not someone who needs to go in a bathroom stall and shove my hand in my panties to take the edge off what he makes me feel.

My cheeks heat at the thought. It’s shameful. It’s humiliating. It’s something I actually need to do. I clear my throat and excuse myself.

In the tiny bar bathroom, I lock the stall door and lean my head back against it. I breathe in and out slowly, trying to calm my frenzied body. I shut my eyes for a second and that’s a mistake. Images flash through my mind.

Raking my nails down his bare back, urging him on.

His big hands spreading my knees wide and seeing the mess I’ve made of myself, the flushed wetness that makes every breath a terrible distraction. My damp panties are riding up between my plump lips, scraping against the tender spot where I want to touch. I could do this, just put one foot up on the toilet seat and plunge my hand into my panties and relieve the pressure. It might help me think straight and be less preoccupied with this ridiculous craving I have for him.

I stifle a moan as my fingers trace through the slippery wetness and skate along the swollen bud of my clit. I pant, hold back the noises I want to make while I stroke myself. Soon I’m rubbing hard and fast, frantic for release. It’s not enough. I shut my eyes and bite my lips, delve my fingers inside my throbbing pussy, wishing it were Mickey filling me up as I tremble and bite down on a cry.

I put myself back together, wash my hands, and splash cold water on my face. The pressure relieved, I’m able to think straight again and prepare to head back out into the bar.

I make my way through the crowd of other people crammed in at other small tables and reached my seat.

“Are you okay?” Mickey asks. He has real concern on his face and I wonder what he’d do if I told him why I was gone so long.

“I’m fine.”

“If you’re done eating, we can see about that tour,” he offers before I can sit back down.

“Okay,” I agree smoothly, eager to see the place. “Should I follow you or?”

“You can ride with me. We’ll get your car later.”

He opens the door for me and I feel embarrassed walking through it ahead of him.

“Are all the guys out in LA a piece of shit or what? You act like you never had a door opened for you.”

“I’m not sure I have,” I say with a shrug.

“You been hanging out with the wrong crowd then,” he says.

We drive in relative silence and soon arrive at our destination. He parks outside a building that looks like any other old brick building in this part of town. It’s a little nicer but nothing fancy and there’s no sign. Nothing to indicate what it is.

“I’ve probably driven by this a hundred times and never knew it was here,” I remark.

“That’s the idea. It doesn’t open for another hour so we have the place mostly to ourselves.” He takes me to a door around the side and enters a code, then scans a fob on his keyring.

We walk in and I half expect it to be a bank lobby or something similar. Instead, it’s beautiful. It doesn’t look like some shiny plastic Vegas casino. It looks like it belongs in an old movie. The carpet is thick and plush burgundy, the walls are covered with cream and gold wallpaper that shows rows of faint outlines of oysters.

The man inside the door wears a nice suit but he’s the size of two refrigerators so that tells me he would be the bouncer. He only nods. A woman at a reception desk gives a lipstick smile and tells us good evening.

“I’m giving a tour. I’m not in,” he says and she nods in reply. These people respect him, and they are not about wasting his time.

There’s a stairway to our left and a bright brass elevator straight ahead. I expect we’ll take the stairs so I can admire the restoration of the historic building but he places that big warm palm in the small of my back again. An intense shock of heat short circuits my entire body. I wonder how I’m not flopping around on the floor from the electrical current running through my veins. He guides me to the right and swipes the fob again to reveal a private elevator.

My eyes cut to his face and search for his gaze as if to see if he felt what I did. The shock of recognition, of searing lust that poured into me at his polite touch. The door slips shut on us and we’re in a small elevator, the floor marble, the walls mirrored, and the man beside me filling up every inch of space, crowding me and making me take in the scent of him, like leather and cigarette smoke and the burn of something sweet.

Our eyes lock for an instant. I register his shock and something feral and deep. His handsome face hardens, something dark flares in his eyes that draws an answering leap and swoop in my chest.

I swallow hard in the confines of the elevator. He steps in toward me, leans down. I don’t know what he’s going to do, but I’m positive I’ll let him. He lifts one big hand and brushes the backs of his fingers to my neck. My body jolts at the contact, frantic pulse thrumming against his fingers. I don’t know what to do, so I grab him. My fingers twine around his thick wrist to hold his hand there, right where it is.

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