Page 37 of Marrying the Mobster
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t remove his shades. “Yes and no.”
“Why no?”
He motions a hand to indicate my exposed skin. “You might as well be wearing dental floss.”
“I thought this was what you wanted,” I reply with my best innocent smile.
“You have no idea what I want,gatita,” he murmurs, his voice low and silky and sending goose bumps over my skin despite the heat.
“Mind if I take a dip?” I ask, glancing at the pool.
He flicks a dismissive hand. “You can do whatever you want as long as you stay where I can see you.”
Oh, I intend to.
“Of course,” I tell him. Then, I turn and let the cover-up slip off my shoulders.
Diego sounds like he’s choking on air as I saunter toward the pool, my entire backside exposed. “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding pained.
I feel his eyes on me as I enter the water, but do my best to pretend to be oblivious. For the next hour or so, I swim and relax in the pool. Within that time, Oleg and his family arrive. Oleg is dressed much like Diego—as if he’s headed to the golf course instead of a casual barbecue. His wife and children are more relaxed, in sarongs and bathing suits, t-shirts and trunks. Nataly looks like a perfect princess in a baby pink one-piece and a transparent skirt tied around her waist.
When she sits on the lounger directly to Diego’s left, the urge to snatch her up by her hair overwhelms me. I can’t explain why her perfection and attempts to get Diego’s attention bother me so much. Maybe it’s because I find her desperation pitiful, and part of me really wants to see her tell both Diego and her father to fuck off.
“Uh oh,” Jovan says, standing beside me against the side of the pool. “You might want to get over there. Someone’s sniffing around your territory.”
As usual, Jovan is annoyingly perfect, his bare chest smooth and defined, glistening with droplets of water. He looks younger with his wet hair slicked against his head, and his teasing smile almost takes the edge off the annoyance his comment caused.
Almost.
“Not my territory,” I reply with a shrug. “Not my problem.”
“Denial isn’t cute on you, Elena,” Jovan says with a snort. “But, whatever. Let the blonde bombshell sit there with her perfect tits and pouty lips next to your guy. Maybe Diego will start to notice how hot she looks, or how much easier she would be to manage than you.”
He follows his warning by dragging a finger across his throat, mimicking someone’s throat being cut. My throat, obviously.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I snap.
“At the moment? No. I like to have fun on my days off and right now watching you get jealous is like being in an amusement park.”
“Of course it is, you’re practically a child.”
My words lack any sharpness or venom, as I’m forced to acknowledge—to myself at least—that I don’t hate Jovan as much as I want to. He’s too damn likable.
“Guilty as charged,” he says with a laugh. “But, seriously, I can tell you’ve been taking my advice. Diego’s like a stud in heat around you. It’s working.”
“He’s a man. You’re all like studs in heat.”
“Does he look like he’s in heat right now?” Jovan challenges.
I watch Nataly lean over the arm of her lounger, smiling and running a hand up Diego’s arm. Jovan’s right; he isn’t putting off any of the intensity he radiates when he’s close to me. But still, my stomach churns at the sight of them—a perfect mafia king and the princess hoping he’ll sweep her off her feet.
“You’re not going to keep his interest from all the way over here,” Jovan teases. “Better get in there champ. I’m rooting for you. Don’t let me down.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble. But I still make my way to the stairs and step out of the pool, my sights set on Diego. I won’t admit it out loud, but Jovan is right. I have to keep Diego’s attention on me. It’ll make our ruse look more real, and also keep his mind off killing me and on fucking my brains out.
His attention snaps to me the moment I’m on dry ground, and he doesn’t look away as I select a towel from one of the baskets surrounding the pool and dry off. Nataly is still blabbering about something, but he isn’t paying her the slightest bit of attention. He sits up straighter in his lounger when I approach, putting on a wide smile.
“Having fun?” he asks, his voice deceptively light. I can see the tension running through him, the arousal pushing at the front of his pants.
