Page 32 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

In a state of undress.

It puts me right back to that night when I found out that she was a MacAntyre.

Right back to the moment where I first started to wonder what was truth, and what was a lie.

And with her current confession, we’re right back there again.

I step back, my spine stiffening. “You hate mafia men?”

“With every fiber of my being,” she spits.

Her accent is thicker now. It’s rarely as pronounced as it is at the moment, and it’s…

Fucking sexy.

I growl. I’m frustrated and I want to reach inside that fucking whisper of lace and tug out her pretty pale nipples, and rip the remaining fabric off of her body before trapping her in front of the mirror and slowly peeling the pants she’s wearing off. I want to make her watch as I slide my fingers down and inside her…

Stop.

I take a deep breath, struggling to regain control. Shutting my eyes, I let it out, counting the beats as I exhale my fury into the crowded dressing room.

“Did you hate them when you decided to kiss me that day at the cottage?” I rasp.

Fucking hell.

I can’t help myself, can I?

I seethe at my lack of control. I never get like this. I’m not Dino. Controlling my mouth, and my intentions, is a pivotal piece of my job.

More than that, I’ve been able to hide who I am from everyone. Always.

The fact that Roisin keeps digging my true self out from under all of these layers is…

Inconvenient.

She makes a small noise in her throat. “That was different.”

My eyes fly open, and they search for hers. “How?”

Roisin looks away. “You… it’s just different.”

Something inside of mesnaps.

In a heartbeat, I'm pushing Roisin up against the dressing room wall. Her eyes are wide and her strong arms are ready to grab me, but I gather both wrists in one hand and pin them up above her head. She pulls, and I’m impressed all over again at the strength in her slim body.

Unfortunately for her, I am stronger.

“You think I’m different? I’m not, Roisin. I’m every fucking inch a mafia boss. It’s in my blood, and if you think for one second that I’m any fucking different, you’re fuckingfooling yourself,” I snarl.

Roisin squirms, and one of my knees comes up to part her legs.

We realize that she’s so wet she’s practically dripping through both layers of clothing at exactly the same time.

Roisin blushes, turning her head. “Don’t think this has anything to do with you,” she snaps.

Oh.

That’s how you want to play it, then?

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