“Mom,” I groan.
“Okay, okay,” she laughs. “I’ll let you go. I just wanted to call to let you know, this one’s for real. Cillian and I really have something and when you’re not so busy, maybe I’ll tell you all about it. Well, not everything, because I don’t think you want to hear about your mother and a canister of whipped cream—”
“Are you trying to make me sick?”
“Meanie,” she laughs. “Okay, ciao for now. Love you.”
“Love you, Mom,” I say.
I hang up and swivel in the computer chair, finding Poppet standing on the bed, her head cocked strangely. I wheel over and try to tickle her behind the ear. “What is it, girl?”
She moans and lies down, watching me closely. I can’t shake the feeling that she can sense the unease in me.
She knows my dirty little secret.
Yes, fine, Poppet. I’m a little bit jealous because Mom has never had trouble with boys and they’ve never looked twice at me. But the thing is, I don’t want a boy. I want a man. And not just any man. I want Domenico DeLuca.
As if reading my thoughts, she smiles sleepily, proud of my honesty.
I lean down and kiss the top of her head, and then return to my computer, putting my headphones on and blaring music. My fingers move slowly over the keys at first, as if I’m dragging the words from a muddy, clogged well. But soon they’re flying.
Tap-tap-tap.
It’s the most beautiful sound in the world.
Chapter Nine
Domenico
A few days later, I’m sitting in the back of the sedan as Julio guides us back into Gabriel’s apartment building.
I hold the package under my arm, a sense of foreboding hammering through me.
I know I shouldn’t be here.
I know I shouldn’t be giving Gabriel’s daughter packages, and definitely not hand-delivering them.
The only excuse I can give myself is that considering the war with the Irish, an unmarked package is bound to cause some mayhem.
Or, of course, I could just not give her a gift.
All has been quiet on the war-front since the night we hit the bars, but I’m under no delusions that Patty has decided to slink from the city with his tail tucked between his legs.
I feel like a traitor as I step from the car and give Julio a curt nod, heading for Gabriel’s private elevator, for which I have a key. I know that Gabriel is out on business and the notion that I’m sneaking around occurs to me, painfully, because sneaking around is something I never do.
And yet here I am.
I nod curtly to the armed guards, the guards who know implicitly not to say a word about me being here. I feel her irresistibly pull as I ride the elevator up toward his apartment, my heart pounding in the back of my throat. A light predator’s sweat slides over my skin as if priming me for something. I move the package from one hand to the other and let out a growling sigh.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her, lying awake at night replaying the balcony scene over and over in my mind. Only in my mind do I strip her naked and have her stand there, pert nipples hard and excited, as I slide my hand down her body, over the bulbous beauty of her ass, between her begging legs, pleasing her, making her cream down my arm as she shivers and screams.
I hear Poppet’s barking the closer I get to Gabriel’s apartment, and then, when the doors are about to open, I hear Dallas’s voice.
“What, girl? What is it? It’s probably one of the guards. What’s wrong?”
The door slides open and my breath catches in a carnal growl. Sunlight washes in from the living room, bathing her, framing her for a second in its midday penthouse glow so that I have to focus to look through the light and see her properly. Her blonde hair is tousled, wearing only a tank top and shorts, and …
Fucking hell. Jesus fucking Christ.
And she’s not wearing a bra.
In the tank top, her breasts are large and appetizing, a meaty meal laid out for me, the sort of breasts that will produce all the milk our children could ever need. At the sight of them, my seed writhes and roars, begging to be inside of her, to feel her sex getting tight around me and her womb sending her juices creaming through her. It’s a primeval need, the imperative to fuck her, to make her pregnant now before it’s too late.
An unfair thought strikes me.
What if some other man tried to get her pregnant, to make her theirs? Violent thoughts rush through me. No other man is allowed to touch her, ever, because she belongs to me.
“I didn’t mean to startle her,” I say, as smoothly as I can as I walk into the apartment.
Poppet trots over to me and offers her head for petting in a dignified manner. I reach down and tickle her behind the ears, and then the snow-white whippet turns around and trots back toward the living room, apparently content I’m not a threat.
“She likes you,” Dallas says, blushing for some reason.
Her eyes flicker downward, toward her tank top, and for an insane moment, I think she’s ashamed at the glorious sight of her voluptuous, mind-fucking breasts. But then my suspicion is confirmed as she turns away, muttering, “Um, will you wait in the kitchen a sec? I mean, you don’t have to. I guess you’re here to drop something off for Dad? I just need to … you know …”
“You look fine the way you are,” I growl, unable to stop myself. “More than fine, in fact.”
She does an adorable two-step, one forward and then one backward, as though she’s not quite sure what I mean by what I’ve just said. I can’t help but smirk, but then her back is turned, striding toward the living room.
My eyes devour
