Page 14 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
But I’m going to need answers eventually. If he thinks I’m going to be some meek little housewife, he clearly hasn’t been paying attention.
“Just come with me for now, Mia.”
It’s not like I have much choice. He’s got my suitcase and probably outweighs me by eighty pounds.
I don’t agree or disagree. I’ll play along for now, let him think he’s won. But I’m not staying with this man long-term. The sex might be incredible, but I don’t belong in whatever dark world he inhabits.
Somehow, I’ll find a way out.
I just hope I’m still breathing when I do.
6
LORENZO
Mia is pissed,and she’s not even trying to hide it.
When I first hatched this brilliant plan of mine, I figured she’d put up a fight. Any woman with half a brain would balk at waking up married to a stranger. But I also figured my considerable charm and, let’s be honest, my reputation, would carry some weight. Maybe she’d be scared enough to comply. Maybe intrigued enough to stay.
I didn’t account for the fact that my new wife is apparently made of steel wrapped in silk and dipped in pure fucking stubbornness.
Even after what happened between us in that hotel room—Christ, the way she came apart in my hands—she’s still ice-cold toward this marriage. Most women would’ve melted by now.
Not Mia. She’s sitting in my passenger seat like she’s planning my murder.
And God help me, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
We’re cruising through Vegas in my ‘66 Ford Fairlane, all restored red glory and chrome that catches the desert sun like liquid fire. I don’t usually drive myself around—I’ve got guys for that—but last night called for something special. My bride deserved better than the back of an SUV for her first ride to our home.
Ourhome.
The words taste good in my mouth, even if she’d probably punch me for saying them out loud.
At a red light, a blonde in a convertible pulls up beside us. She gives the car an appreciative once-over before flashing me a smile that screamsavailable. I couldn’t care less, but Mia notices.
“Looks likeshemight want to be your wife,” she says, voice dripping with false casualness.
I turn to study her profile. “Jealous, Mia?”
“No.” The word comes out too fast. “Of course not.”
“Good. You have no reason to be.”
I mean every word. That blonde could strip naked and dance on my hood, and I wouldn’t spare her a second glance. Not when Mia’s sitting right here, all dark eyes and attitude, making my blood run hot just by breathing.
Twenty years I’ve been a widower. Twenty years of women who meant nothing more than a way to scratch an itch. I told myself that’s all I wanted; simple, uncomplicated release with no strings attached.
Then I saw Mia’s picture, and everything changed.
Now that I know how she feels beneath me, how she sounds when she’s lost to pleasure, how she tastes...Jesus. No other woman will ever come close.
The light turns green, and I guide us southwest toward the expensive part of town. Toward home.
“Where are we going?” Mia asks.
“Our house is about twenty minutes out. Eight bedrooms, six bathrooms. Pretty big.”
“Pretty big?” She snorts. “That sounds like a mansion.”
