We fought until I smashed my palms on his massive chest. Sparks flying when my skin connected with his, forming a ring of sizzling flames around us. It started and lit that fire I’ve always had smoldering for him between my legs.
It hasn’t stopped since.
Of course, he felt them too. He must have by the way he grabbed me by the hips and speared his tongue into my mouth. It was a controlling kiss. Our tongues sweeping together in a clash of need.
Before I knew what was happening, he had me on my back in my bed, my robe off, and his head between my legs—diving his tongue deep inside me—driving me just to the edge of ecstasy before pulling back and thrusting inside of me. Every cell inside my body came alive by his touch—every nerve ending snapping and sizzling like live wires.
I bent to his will as if he attached strings to every part of my body, and he turned me into a puppet the entire day. And now I find myself caught up in these chaotic, confusing, and flustering feelings I shouldn’t have when it comes to Seth Mitchell.
I’ve not seen Seth since the funerals, where I ignored him when he tried cornering me twice to talk, and God, I almost did. I practically begged him to stay. He isn’t the reason I’m here, though. I need to remember that and keep control. If I don’t block him out of my mind like I’ve done so much this past month, he’ll completely take over.
That’s the kind of man he is.
Overpowering.
“Threats of any kind don’t intimidate me. Please tell me what you’d like to discuss.” A dash of panic mingles with my words. I know better than to show any emotion. That’s one of the golden rules of growing up in the mafia. Along with giving a blank stare, say nothing, do nothing, and pay attention. Because if you don’t, an enemy will trap you, and deep down, I know Agent Wozniak is an enemy.
“You’re free to leave, Miss Hughes. Rest assured, I’ll have you back here anytime I damn well want. Next time I might have a warrant for your arrest. Either way, I will get you to talk, and if I find out you’ve lied. I will nail your ass to the wall,” he warns, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grunt.
Tension twists up my spine, knotting at the back of my neck when the corners of his mouth tilt upward. His facial expression changes to that of a hungry vulture as if he’s getting ready to swoop down and peck away at my skin.
He raises a quizzical brow.
I say nothing.
“Good. I’m going to assume you aren’t leaving. Let’s get started. You moved out of your house at eighteen. A young girl out in New York City on her own had to be terrifying. You have student loans coming out of your ass. A degree in fashion design, and now on extended leave as an assistant manager at The Grill House in Houston. Oh, and you disagree with the things your family does, yet you love them. I find the last hard to believe. Correct me if I’m wrong.”
His words perch uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like how much he knows about my life. It makes me feel violated. Like he’s raked me right over the coals. Also, hearing someone else speak about how I disagree with my family’s way of living makes me want to snatch his ink pen out of his hand and stab him in the neck.
He makes it sound like I hate my family. That’s the farthest thing from the truth.
“That would be a yes or no, Miss Hughes.”
His pushiness has my hand flying to the compass necklace my mother gave me the first Christmas I was on my own.
“A compass will guide you through life’s unexpected twists and turns. North means home and infinite possibilities. The south represents passion and the present. East is new beginnings and the future. West symbolizes emotion and the past. I hope you wear it to guide you in the right direction.” Those were Mom’s beautiful words to me after I opened the gift.
Yes, I moved out of my house shortly after I graduated high school. Was I scared? Not really. Especially when Aidan Hughes is your father, and he kept someone’s eyes on me at all times.
I spent half my savings on an apartment smaller than my childhood bedroom. I have several loans left. Paying interest only when you choose to be poor, it’s all a person can do.
My parents knew how I felt about living off blood money, which stopped them from paying off my loans, but it didn’t stop them from leaving cash on my counter when they could see I needed a new sewing machine or groceries. They let me make my choices, and not once did they ever try changing my way of thinking.
They let me live my life while teaching me the ways of our world and loving me unconditionally.
My degree is in fashion design, but you need money to make money, so here I am, selling clothes I worked my ass off to design and sew, selling in Ellie Mitchell’s consignment shop for next to nothing. Honestly, I could have had them in stores throughout the world if I wanted. All I’d had to do is drop one name. Alina Diamond, Roan’s wife, and I’d have signed on the dotted line.
I would never do that. If I couldn’t make it on my own, then it wasn’t meant to be. Besides, I have a lot on my plate to be stewing over a failed foolish dream, like how I’m going to look myself in the mirror when I get home. Like how I worry about
