This man should not be as handsome as he is. But there is something about him and it’s more than his looks. Yes, the stubble on his sharp jaw and the focus in his hazel eyes is hot as hell, but there’s more to him. He exudes power.
It doesn’t scare me.
Which is what doesn’t make any sense to me. Alarm bells should be ringing in my head. Blaring really.
But for the first time in as long as I can remember, they’re silent. Completely silent.
Oh, I’m not stupid. I don’t think Angelo is a choir boy by any means. The man is soaked in blood. The power he holds is his. To wield. To exert. To lord, if he chooses.
“I was dancing for you and then you threw me over your shoulder and carried me out to a car?” I pose it as a question and hope he fills in the blanks.
“You fell asleep in the car,la mia pace,” he explains, his tone deceptively neutral.
It’s infuriating. My eyes narrow as I adjust and face more of my body toward him. He doesn’t look away.
He doesn’t look down at my body. There is no perusal. There is no caressing with his eyes.
But I’ve never felt more seen. Everything about Angelo screams…aware. He’s attuned to me and doesn’t miss a thing.
He’s seen the way the strap of the nightie I’m wearing has slipped down over my shoulder. Even though his gaze hasn’t wavered.
Angelo Amato sees far more than I want him to.
“Yes,” I keep my words measured, very aware that this man is dangerous, “I figured I fell asleep in your car. Is this a fancy hotel? I’m sure you could have easily found my address.”
He sits up, the movement is fluid and reminds me of a predator. Knowing he has his sights set on me has a shiver running up and down my spine. My body wants to sway toward him, but I don’t allow myself to move. I barely even breathe.
When his hand shoots out and he grips my jaw, I let out a gasp of surprise. I’m waiting for his touch to turn painful, but it doesn’t happen. It doesn’t make any sense.
“I can see your confusion,la mia pace.” For the first time, as I’m held immobile by his hand, more unwilling than unable to move, he allows his gaze to roam over my face. I feel the tingle of his touch, the intensity of his gaze melting into something sweetly sinful. “How about we make an agreement. Then we’ll talk.”
I eye him, my words coming out as suspicious as I feel, “What kind of agreement?”
Angelo slides closer to me; the heat of his body is tantalizing. When our eyes meet again, something clicks inside of me. “We’ll never lie to each other,” his words are a promise, one bound to me without my input.
“You won’t lie to me?” My question and the disbelief in my words make me an instant target. His target. “You’re a mob boss,” there’s an edge to my voice, “you can’t exactly tell me the truth.”
“Oh,” he fires back as he leans forward and runs his nose along my jawline, his voice dropping an octave, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Why would you do that?” I can’t help the way my voice comes out breathy with how close he is to me. If only he were making any fucking sense.
We don’t know each other. I was working at his family’s brothel when he…abducted me? I would have gone with him willingly. Who would say no to a man like him. Me? No.
“Because I crave your trust, Dove,” Angelo’s voice is serious and sincere. He kisses along the column of my neck. “I crave your secrets. Give me the things that weigh you down and feel like they’re too heavy to carry on your shoulders alone.”
While it makes no sense, I believe him. I can feel how much he wants this from me.
Crave.
He said he craves it. And I know he does. A hunger lives between us, breathing and growing with every heartbeat.
“You’re asking a lot, Mr. Amato,” I try to sound unaffected by his nearness and the way it feels for his lips to ghost over my skin, but it’s impossible.
“Angelo,” he growls, “always Angelo to you,la mia pace.”
“What does that mean?” As much as I don’t want to ask anything of him, I can’t help it. My curiosity is too much to contain.
Angelo pulls away slowly as if he’s waiting for me to stop him. Does anyone stop a man like him from doing what he wants?
