Page 12 of Mafia Boss' Surprise Baby

Heat climbs my neck and flushes my cheeks. I can’t meet his eyes anymore. The moment is too charged, to vulnerable somehow. Later I’ll tell myself it’s just the confusion of a radioactive level of lust, that it’s nothing more intimate than that. My boss is hot, plus he’s Rory’s friend so there’s the added kick of forbidden fruit.

Just a cheesy leftover teenage crush ratcheted up by hormones and whatever wicked alchemy makes him smell so irresistible. Purely physical, that’s what I’ll tell myself. There’s no attraction on any other level. His objective off-the-charts sexiness and the aura of dark power he wields as head of the crime family make for an intoxicating blend.

The faint brush of his knuckles down the side of my throat is now his hand hot on my throat, holding my neck tenderly but with a hint of possession, that dominance that seems to be anintrinsic part of him. My thoughts scatter when I’m near him, which is surely not a good sign, and everything in the universe concentrates on the place where his hand is on my neck and I’m holding his wrist.

I feel the beat of his pulse, as quick as my own, pumping against my fingertip. I stroke the inside of his wrist and see and feel his reaction. A breath rushes out of him, and his eyes drop shut. He holds himself very still. With his eyes shut, mine feel free to roam his body. I see the unmistakable bulge in his expensive trousers. It makes my mouth go dry.

“Did you push the button?” I ask hoarsely.

“Button?” he frowns before the question registers.

He takes a step back, disentangling himself from me. I have no choice but to let go of his wrist even though I’d like to keep holding it. He steps to the panel and presses a button. The elevator begins to move and I grip the brass rail beside me. I’m no longer crowded in a corner by him but I still feel off balance. I want to say something, tell him he’s incredible and that I’ve had actual sex that was a lot less satisfying than him touching my neck in an elevator.

But I don’t.

When the doors slide open, I follow him to a door that unlocks with a code and a scan of his thumbprint. The room itself isn’t that large, but it’s beautiful. The walls are deep green and the wood trim is rich and old-fashioned. There’s a table that seats four, a couch and a couple of chairs, a bar cart in the corner. But the focal point is a broad window that covers the wall opposite the door. I go to the window and look out, or rather I look down. It’s an interior window that looks out over the main floor of the casino.

“That is some classy James Bond looking shit,” I mutter. He chuckles and I hear the warmth of his laugh close behind me.

“Glad you approve,” he says.

“I went out to Vegas with some friends last year. It was unbelievably tacky and crowded. So loud. Everywhere we went I just wanted to leave.”

“That’s bad for business. You want your customers to get comfortable, settle in, lose track of time.”

“Makes sense.”

“On the main floor, it’s just a mirror. I had it made when I took over, so I could watch the action without those below knowing they are being observed. When I’m not here there’s a floor manager who oversees the place and this is where he’s stationed during open hours.”

“So we could see them, but they can’t see us,” I say, my voice breathy and embarrassing.

“If there was anyone here, yeah, that’s the idea,” he says. “This is my favorite spot, but there’s more to the tour.”

He crosses the room and opens the door for me. “Make a right,” he instructs. We look in offices and an executive lounge, a big security space with a bay of surveillance monitors showing multiple locations throughout the building. All the exits, the hallways and stairwells, even the elevators. I try not to think about the guy who’s manning the surveillance hub watching the heavy breathing and the part where I gripped Mickey’s wrist in the elevator earlier. I remind myself that all the staff here is employed for discretion as well as skill. That doesn’t do much to calm my nerves though.

A few doors down from there, I meet Brad, the IT guy. He’s introduced to me with a longer title than that, but it’s pretty clear he’s the IT guy. He gets busy scanning my thumbprint and setting me up with a secure laptop. Once I’m equipped with that, we return to the first room. What Mickey calls the crow’s nest.

He takes out a tablet and starts showing me the latest quarterly report to give me an overview of the kind of numbersI’m dealing with and the budget allocation. I look around after a minute.

“Is there paper and a pen anywhere?” I ask.

He cracks a smile. “I should’ve known you would want to do this old school. Do you need a quill pen or is this okay?” he teases, offering me a pen from his inner pocket.

“I like to write things down.”

“You have a state-of-the-art encrypted laptop in front of you,” he points out.

“Sometimes you can’t replace a classic,” I counter.

He produces a notebook from a drawer and I jot down some thoughts on the projected earnings, the rough numbers on overhead and staffing. I fill a couple of pages and then look up at him.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I say.

He taps back to the chart and then loads a spreadsheet. I think my mouth drops open a little as I read it. It’s an intricate breakdown of the assets of the operation and The Pearl itself is worth even more than I anticipate. For something that has zero marketing budget, a casino hidden in plain sight, I expect a number significantly less than what I’m looking at.

“This is crazy,” I say.

“I’m good at what I do,” he remarks with a shrug.

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