Marissa
I grab Gio’s phone to make sure I’m reading the text correctly. A smile forms on my lips as I re-read. “You gave me a raise, too?” I know I’m letting him hear my excitement. It’s stupid. Three dollars an hour is nothing to Gio Tacone, and I didn’t want to give him any more leverage on me. But what the hell-he’s already decided he owns me. Might as well let him pay for it, right?
It occurs to me I should ask for more.
Especially considering how affectionate he’s being with me.
But maybe he’s like this with every woman he brings home.
A shard of jealousy pierces through me with unexpected viciousness.
“What?”
Damn, he’s observant.
I pull the sheet up to cover my breasts. I need to get myself out of here. I am so out of my depth with this man and this only ends one way-with me crushed beneath his boot.
“Are you finished with me now?”
His brows slam down. “What the fuck just happened?”
I get up and start to crawl off the bed, but he catches me by the waist and tugs me back. “Hang on just a minute. What the fuck did I do, Marissa? You mad about the money?”
I can’t meet his eyes. I just want to get out of here. I turn my face away. “No, I just-”
He catches my jaw and holds it firmly, turning my face to his. “What’d I do?”
I want to throw something mean in his face about him owning me and treating me like a whore, but I know in my heart it’s a lie, so I let the real problem slip.
“You’re a playboy, Gio. I can’t do this.” I choke on the emotion that pops up. What the hell is this? Just yesterday I was giving him hell and kneeing him in the balls. Now I’m choking up over not being his one-and-only? It’s freaking crazy.
“What?” He’s as shocked as I am. “No, no, no, no, no. You’re nuts, Marissa. You’re the first woman I’ve slept with since I got shot. And that was months ago.” He releases my jaw, his touch becoming gentle as he tips my chin up. “You’re the girl in my dreams, angel. Just wish they were nice dreams.”
He lowers his forehead to mine, his lips hovering over my mouth.
I take the initiative and kiss him. The moment I do, he launches into action, pushing me to my back on the bed, covering my body with his. His kiss is deep, relentless. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, he sucks my lower lip. He consumes me.
It’s the best kiss of my life.
A real kiss.
Better than any movie.
Better than sex, even.
Well, maybe not better than sex with Gio. That’s pretty untoppable.
When he breaks it, he stares down at me. “What do you want from me, angel? I’ll give it to you. It’s just fucking hard when you won’t ever take it.”
And then I’m crying.
Hot tears that drip from the corners of my eyes down my temples. “I’m sorry.” I loop my arms around him and pull him close, into a full body horizontal hug. He’s heavy, but the weight soothes me. “This is all scary and new to me.”
“What is?” He sounds demanding and I think he realizes it, because he repeats the words, more softly, “What is, angel?”
“Everything. You. Who you are. What you represent. The power, the money. The sex.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You lost me, baby.” He tries to push away to see my face, but I keep a stranglehold on his neck. I really can’t take the eye contact right now. “What are you talking about?”
I don’t want to say, “you’re mafia” because I think it’s something you don’t say to these guys, so I say, “You’re a Tacone.”
His weight slumps against me, like I just shot him down. “Baby, I don’t even know who I am anymore.” His voice is heavy. He sounds ancient. “Ever since I got shot, I don’t know what the point of this life is. I meant it when I said you gave me new meaning. So if you have some idea about who the fuck I am, could you please just… forget it? Can we just start from today? This minute. Just two people who like the way their bodies fit together? Who like the way they feel when they’re with the other?”
I catch my breath. Whoa. Is that how he feels about me?
He pushes back and this time I reluctantly let him see me. “Do I make you feel good, angel?”
Tingles rush over my skin. He phrased it like it’s about sex, but I can tell by his gaze that he’s asking about so much more. Does he?
He scares me. I’ve been afraid of getting involved with him. But yeah. He definitely makes me feel good. Not just my body.
Me.
I remember how strong I felt going into the hospital with him. How sexy and confident I felt cooking for him.
How freaking special I feel every time he shares something like this about his real struggles. About who he really is.
“Yes, Gio,” I whisper. “I like the way you make me feel.”
The corners of his mouth lift. “Good. Now, what can I do for you this morning? Take you to breakfast? What time do you have to be at work?”
“Not until two. And I’m making you breakfast.” I’m suddenly full of energy, excited to be the version of me he finds so attractive. “Ever have a woman cook for you in the nude?” I ask, traipsing toward the door. “Scratch that, I don’t want to know the answer,” I call as I sashay toward the kitchen.
“No,” he calls after me. “Never, baby. You’re the only woman I ever let in my kitchen!”
I’m absurdly pleased with that answer. When you grow up Italian-or at least in my family-you learn that cooking is love. My nonna still spends an entire day preparing a meal for the family dinner. At Christmas, she spends two days making cookies with Mia.
You can taste the love in the food. It’s the reason Milano’s always has customers.
It’s the reason I wanted to become a chef-I wanted to take it to a new level.
I head into the kitchen and tie the apron I left in his drawer around my waist and look through the refrigerator to see what he’s eaten of the food I left him.
Gio comes to sit at the breakfast bar in a t-shirt that stretches to accommodate his barrel chest and a pair of running shorts. He rubs his jaw and growls when he takes in my outfit. “Baby, you cook for me like that, you’re the only thing that’s gonna be eaten.”
I smile smugly and ignore him, going about my work.
I’m pleased to find he’s devoured almost everything I left. I cut up a little of the steak that should be for tonight’s meal and chop some tomatoes, onions, garlic and basil. Then I pull out eggs, butter and milk and make two big fat omelets.
“I can’t find it in me to feel guilty you’re in my kitchen before you have to go in and cook all night,” Gio says when I slide a plate in front of him. He picks it up. “Bring yours over to the table. And you’re sitting on my lap. You think I can touch this food before I touch you?”
I think I’m blushing. I want to keep my resistance up to his charm, but he keeps chipping away at my defenses. I carry my plate to the table and gasp at the view. I saw it at night, but in the daytime, it’s even more spectacular. Sun streams in through the wall-to-wall windows, sparkles on the waves of Lake Michigan below us.
“This is incredible.”
He pulls me down on his lap, as promised. His lips immediately find my breast and he sucks my nipple until I squirm on his lap, the corresponding tug between my legs growing stronger.
“Beautiful girl. I’m starving but you’re the only thing I want to eat.”
“Don’t offend me-I made this food for you. Mangia, mangia, as my nonna would say.”
“Mmm, all right,” he says reluctantly and helps me stand. “Food first.” He slaps my bare ass as I turn to take a seat opposite him.
We’re silent as we eat. I split my gaze between the view and his handsome face as he shovels the food into his mouth, bobbing his head and making appreciative sounds.
“You were always my favorite Tacone brother,” I admit, wiping my lips with a cloth napkin.
He studies me, amused. “Didn’t know you thought about any of us enough to even have a favorite.”
“Oh I thought about you plenty,” I admit. “You were always kind. You and Stefano. The rest of your brothers scared me.”
“Yeah. We’re the faces,” he says. When he can see I don’t understand, he elaborates, “The ones who do the schmoozing, when it has to be done.”
It brings back home what he is. Who he is. A crime lord. A killer. A member of one of the most dangerous and powerful mafia families in the country. My stomach tightens.
What in the hell am I doing here? This isn’t a game and I’m in way over my head.
I pick up our plates but Gio takes them from me. “I’ll clean up, doll. Thanks for breakfast.”
“I’m going to take a shower and go. I need to get home to change before work.”
“I will drive you,” Gio says firmly.
“No, I’m good. It’s broad daylight. Really.”
Gio stops in the entryway to the kitchen and frowns. He looks at me like he’s going to say something, then just shakes his head and turns into the kitchen.
I take it as a reprieve and escape to his luxurious bathroom. I need to get away from this crazy fantasy world and back to who I am. The Milano girl. Granddaughter of Luigi Milano, who should’ve known better than to get herself tangled in Tacone business.