Page 18 of Taken By the Kingpin
She narrows her eyes as she thinks. “A gun. And a knife.”
I laugh, I can’t help it. She’s a true innocent.
“What?” She scowls and it’s adorable. Like a grumpy kitten. I want to scoop her up and kiss the pucker from between her graceful brows.
“Instinct. That tingle in your spine and the back of your mind. The knowledge your body has that something is wrong. That’s your best shield from danger.” It’s all very well for me to feel that tingle and smile with anticipation of the ignorant arses I’ll scrub from the world. But I want her to be cautious. She is more precious than a dozen Fabergé eggs. She’s priceless and irreplaceable.
Her forehead wrinkles and I reach over to stroke the lines away. “I’ll take care of you as long as you’re here. And after that, your words, beautiful girl. Your wit and your insight. Keep him talking.”
“I’ve never been much good at that.” Fiddling with the hem of her top, she crosses and uncrosses her legs, drawing my gaze. They’re long and slim and a little coltish. Like she’s still learning how they work, and how the brush of her thighs together can affect a man. “Talking, I mean. I always say the wrong thing, and people misunderstand me.”
“Me too,” I confess without thinking. All my thoughts are with her lovely calves.
“The big mafia boss is misunderstood.” She tilts her head and skims her gaze over me. I suddenly fear maybe she can see everything, including how gone I am for her. “You’re terrifying and brutal. You killed a man without a second glance yesterday.”
I open my mouth to say the shot was to the shoulder, to incapacitate not kill, and I told my second-in-command to clean up. Linda knows to save a life if possible. But Jeanette continues. “You’re the playboy kingpin. You’re a ruthless businessman. A cliche in a smart suit with a glass of expensive alcohol and a penthouse suite of ten floors in the most prestigious address in London.”
I nod, but honestly, I’m a little disappointed. Yes, I am all of those things.
“But I suppose you are misunderstood. Because you’re also kind and do what you think is right, despite the consequences. You looked after me even though you didn’t need to and Itold you not to, and started a war within your mafia alliance for a slip of a girl—”
“You’re not just a slip of a girl,” I mutter.
“You’re hardworking—don’t think I didn’t see your laptop open last night—and you look after your people. You’re never seen with the same woman on your arm twice, which means you don’t cruelly raise hopes. And I think…” She pauses and licks her lips. It’s a guileless gesture, probably indicating her nerves, but it sizzles down my back. “I think you’re lonely.”
My lungs collapse. So does my heart. Every one of my internal organs throws down tools and shrugs with a,she’s got you, boss. Not even a full day we’ve spent together as adults and it’s like she’s not justinmy thoughts, she canpick throughmy thoughts.
How does she know all that?
“Apparently I’m not misunderstood by you.” This girl sees straight into my soul.
“Takes one to know one,” she mumbles, and looks away, suddenly shy.
No parents to love and encourage her, a traumatic past she must hide from everyone, and a starchy private school. I can see why she’s lonely too. She needs someone who knows her and cares for her without end. Someone who loves her to the outermost stars that look black from here on earth, and back again.
Like me.
And that care means not pushing her further right now. “Very perceptive. What about we try some more practical scenarios. Self-defenceonly,” I add.
Gratitude flares in her eyes when she looks up and agrees with a soft, “Okay.”
Back in the gym, there’s a tacit agreement that we’re to be serious. I spend hours ignoring my body’s reaction to hers when I grab her, again and again, from different angles and in various ways and congratulate her as I wince when she ultimately manages to land some hits. I teach her how to listen to my breathing and predict which direction I’m going to lunge. She’s whip-smart and picks up everything after one or two goes.
Eventually, she flops onto the springy rubber mat and groans. Her top rides up a little and I avert my gaze.
“I’m knackered.”
“That was nothing compared to being in my bed,” I say under my breath. Not low enough for her to miss, however. She perks up.
“Sit down with me.” Patting the space next to her, she gets this sexy, excited smile on her face.
“Jeanette,” I warn, but as I fold my long limbs onto the floor mats at a decent distance, my knees creaking.
“What about from this angle,” she chirps with false innocence. She knows exactly what she’s doing as she scoots across to me. “We haven’t practised on the ground. Or what if I was on a bed?”
“You’re not going to be on the floor with a man. Anddefinitelynot a bed.” That comes out rather more like a decree than I intend, but I’ve had to keep my arousal on a leash as tight and stretched as elastic, and I can’t promise I won’t break if she tests me.
“You said to exploit sensitive areas.” Her hand is tentative as she reaches down. I hold my breath, unable to think or feel or rationalise the myriad of reasons I should put a stop to this.
