I Married a Mob Boss

by Shandi Boyes

  “Come here, Kitten.” His voice is throaty and spine-tingling deep.

  With my heart walloping in my chest, I shake my head, denying his request.

  He slants his head to the side and strengthens his glare before repeating, "Come here, Kitten," for the second time.

  The authority in his tone has me pushing off my feet and padding towards him before my brain has the chance to register a complaint. I’ve never been an overly confrontational person, and tonight is clearly no different. Even though I'm following his command to a T, every step I take alters the power between us. Not only do his eyes reveal that I’m not the only one confused by our weird kinship—he's just as baffled as me—they also show there was something more than a laced drink guiding my decisions last week. I'm in a house that would make the burliest men quake in their boots, but with Rico looking at me like he is now, all my insecurities fade into the horizon. It's just me and him—the stranger I married.

  When I stand in front of him, he grips the end of my towel and pries it open. My hands shoot down, endeavoring to maintain my modesty the best I can in a skimpy towel. My abrupt movements halt when I realize he has only opened the towel far enough to uncover his name inked on my hip. Although there's still a scandalous amount of my skin exposed, it isn't sufficient enough to warrant my absurd overreaction.

  “Is it itchy?” Rico questions with his eyes fixed on the flaky skin on my hip bone.

  I shrug. “A little.” When his truth-absorbing eyes connect with mine, I mumble, “A lot.”

  I followed the advice posted online about caring for newly inked skin, but no matter how stringently I followed the guidelines, my tattoo is blotchy, scaly and painstakingly itchy. I try my hardest to ignore the desire to scratch it, but just like my ability to deny Rico's attention, I have the occasional slip-up.

  My chances of having another lapse in judgment grow when Rico secures a tube of hydrocortisone cream from a set of drawers beside him. He unscrews the cap, squirts a small portion of lotion onto two fingers, and carefully applies it to my hip. I stare at him, utterly dumbfounded. He is dutifully attending to me like any caring husband would look after his wife. I won’t lie, my nose is tingling, and sentimental tears prick my eyes. It's a sweet thing for him to do.

  “If you keep it well moisturized, the itching sensation will lessen.” He screws the cap back onto the tube. “But no matter how uncomfortable it gets, don’t pick at it.”

  I nod before handing him the towel wrapped around my drenched hair so he can dry his moisture-slicked hands. Noticing my wound is already less itchy, I say, “Thank you.”

  His dark eyes glance into mine. "Maybe next time you’ll heed my warning on an impromptu tattoo session."

  I stare at him, shocked and blinking. “Me? Wasn’t my tattoo your idea?”

  He throws his head back and laughs. My shock intensifies. He has a beautiful laugh. It’s the type that shreds through my body and warms my heart. It also makes my stomach do a stupid fluttery thing.

  Once his laughter settles down, he answers, “No, Kitten. The tattoo was all your doing.”

  I balk. “But. . . Are you sure?. . . I thought it was some ownership/branding kind of thing."

  The laughter lining his face vanishes. “Hmm. Is that why you chose my chest?” His voice is still rough from his vigorous bout of laughter.

  My eyes bug.

  They bulge even more when he unfastens the top three buttons on his shirt. I swallow harshly, attempting to relieve my burning throat when he pulls open his shirt to expose my name in thick black ink swirled on his left pectoral muscle. It isn't just seeing the six letters of my name that has my temperature rising, it's being awarded the visual of his smooth, muscular torso. From his build alone, I was well aware he would have an impressive body. But seeing it up close…. Jesus. Now I wish even more that my flashback of our time together in the shower went a few seconds longer.

  My heart beats triple time when Rico seizes my wrist and draws my hand up to his chest. The muscles on his pecs contract when he runs the tips of my fingers over the peeling ink. Although his tattoo doesn't look as scaly as mine, there's no doubt it's fresh ink.

  Talking through the lump in my throat, I mutter, “I branded you.” Disbelief—and if I'm not mistaken—a little bit of honor is dangling off my vocal cords.

  “You can’t brand someone unwilling, Kitten,” Rico replies, staring up at me. “Memory?”

  The hope in his eyes dampens when I shake my head. “I had a flashback earlier, though.”

  His heavy brow cocks as he waits for me to continue.

  “It was in the shower.”

  He smiles at the flustered state my confession causes. “Was it a good memory, Kitten?” His voice is more profound and raspy.

  “It was a little short.”

  Now it’s my turn to smile at his shocked expression.

  “My memory, not your. . .” I stop talking as a rush of heat creeps over my cheeks. I don’t want to be, but disappointment clouds me when he removes my hand from his chest and stands from his seat.

  “You look tired, Kitten. Let me shower, then you can go to bed.”

  “Okay.” I catch my eyeroll halfway from the neediness projected in my voice. I’ve never been a clingy type of girl, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, Rico incites a side to me I didn’t know existed. Maybe it's because I’ve always been the girl who plays it safe? Marrying Rico added an edge of danger to my life I’ve never been brave enough to explore. Meeting him forced me out of the safe box I’ve been living in the past ten years. He isn’t just a challenge for me to unravel, he challenges me as well.

  “Your sleeping clothes are on the bed.” Rico nudges his head to the ginormous bed on my left.

  A smile etches onto my weary face when I follow his head nudge and notice he has laid out my pajamas: a satin slip and a three-quarter length silk negligee. When I shoot my eyes around the room, the warmth spreading across my chest flourishes. Not only did he remove my sleeping garments from my suitcase, but he also unpacked my entire bag. Suddenly, my smile evaporates. Does that mean he intends for my stay to be a long one? My heart rate hits an all-time high. Being brutally honest, I don’t know if it's beating faster in exhilaration or alarm.

  After pressing a quick kiss to my temple, Rico ambles into the shower. Once he slips behind the door, I get dressed and hop into bed, vainly trying to disregard the breakneck speed of events.

  Seconds have never felt like hours. . . Until I'm in Rico's presence.

  Chapter 13

  I've been tossing and turning for approximately fifteen minutes when the creak of a door jingles through my ears. Although I'm beyond tired, after my exchange with Rico, sleep is evading me. The entire day has been nothing but a blur of confusion. In a matter of hours, I went from being surrounded by twenty-three grubby faces to trying to ignore the affections of a man who equally intrigues and intimidates me.

  Any chance of ignorance is lost when I twist my head to the side and spot Rico entering the room wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy boxer shorts. His hair is wet and flat, his naked torso is shimmering with droplets of water I'm suddenly envious of, and his plain blue cotton boxers have no chance in hell of hiding his yummy six pack abs or the defined cut of his oblique muscles.

  When he spins around to face the dresser, my mouth falls open. He has a tattoo that covers a majority of his left shoulder blade and twists halfway down his back. It's an intricate design that weaves through a rippling of muscles I didn't even know existed. And his ass… oh… there should be rules against a man having an ass that fine.

  Failing to notice my ogling stare, Rico undoes the latch on his gold watch, places it on a crystal tray on top of an antique dresser, then turns to face the mirror on the duchess. He runs his fingers through his hair, giving it that sexed-up tousled look usually achieved through bedroom antics. Like the first time I viewed an original Monet painting, I can't stop staring at him, both riveted and confused. His body is truly s
pectacular. A fine piece of art.

  After tussling his unruly hair into place, Rico throws a plain shirt over his head and spins around to face me. I watch him stride across the room. Just the way he moves his body with such fluidity and ease, I know he'd be extraordinary in bed. Sheet-clenching, I’ll never forget being claimed by him, mind-hazing sex. The heat in my cheeks doubles when my mind wanders to the time I discovered a three-pack of empty condom wrappers under this very bed. That was a mere week ago. It feels more like a lifetime.

  The heat pumping through my veins diverts to another region when Rico reaches the edge of the bed and pulls back the sheets. Not saying a word, he slips into the bed next to me.

  Spring-boarding into a half-seated position, I stammer, “What are you doing?”

  He adjusts two pillows behind his head before connecting his dark eyes with mine. “Getting ready for bed.”

  “In my bed?” I splutter, my voice high and cringeworthy.

  "Kitten," Rico draws out in a long, husky moan, causing the hairs on my arm to stupidly bristle. "This is not your bed.”

  I peer around the room, confused.

  My eyes stop aimlessly floating when he continues, “It's our bed.”

  I stare at him, still shocked. “Our bed?”

  He smiles a lazy grin that sets my pulse racing. “Yes. Our bed.”

  Annoyed at my body’s reaction to his playful grin, I mutter, “And how many other women have you slept with in our bed?”

  I'm not going to lie; a stabbing pain hits the middle of my chest just from thinking about him with anyone but me. Is that inconceivable for me to say? I don't know him—he's practically a stranger—but I'm getting jealous about his prior relationships. Yeah, that's inconceivable.

  My shock multiplies tenfold when he answers, “Not one.”

  I stare at him impassively, demanding further explanation. There's no way a man with looks like his wouldn't have women falling at his feet, so I find it extremely doubtful no one has slept in his bed before me.

  Noticing my skeptical gaze, Rico explains, “We purchased this bed an hour after being married. At your request, it was delivered before we arrived here.”

  I release a long-winded breath. “Oh.”

  He smiles at my ambiguous reaction before tilting in close to my side. “I’ve never had so much fun breaking in a bed,” he mutters into my ear, causing a gathering of goosebumps to float to the surface of my skin.

  My pussy tingles when the roughness of his five o'clock shadow scratches the skin on my nape. That isn't the only response his closeness instigates; it also causes a new memory to rush to the surface of my muddled mind. . .

  Not the slightest bit embarrassed, I yank down the zipper of my floral skirt, step out of it and charge towards a monstrous bed in the middle of the room. A girly giggle rumbles up my chest and explodes from my mouth when the softness of new sheets engulfs me.

  “Oh my goodness, it’s huge!” I squeal before fanning my arms and legs out like I’m making a snow angel in the high thread count sheets.

  My nostrils flare, relishing the scent of new bedding, but that isn't the sole cause for my quickening pulse: it's the distinct aroma of spices on sweat-slicked skin. My darling husband is close by.

  My immature laughter switches to a needy purr when he presses a soft kiss on the edge of my ankle, closely followed by one on the curve of my knee. I squirm when a rough beard scrapes the skin high on my inner thigh. Fighting my body’s desire to pull my knees inward, I loosen my thigh muscles and sweep them open. I'm in the bed my husband purchased especially for us to christen on our wedding night. Now is not the time for modesty.

  My breathing pans out when the softest pair of lips grazes past my longing core. I gasp, incredibly turned on when Rico places a gentle peck on the middle of my satin panties. Acting purely on instinct, my hips swivel, soundlessly pleading for more direct contact. I only just hold in my disappointed moan when Rico's sinful lips continue their journey, denying my body’s silent pleas.

  Every kiss placed on my bare skin as he leisurely travels from my ankles to my torso has my excitement growing. I'm incredibly aroused while also reveling in his tenderness. I’ve never had a man treat me with so much compassion before. Every kiss Rico gives is filled with silent promises that he will always love and protect me, keep me safe, and never break my heart.

  My heart swells, incapable of accommodating the mass surge of blood pumping into it. It completely stops beating when a final peck is pressed onto the dip in my collarbone. It isn't the softness of the kiss that has my heart defying logic; it's the beautiful pair of dark eyes staring down at me. Rico's hair falls into his face, framing his chiseled cheekbones and shaped brows. His lips are swollen from our kisses shared in the back of the car during our travels. But his most exquisite feature is the look beaming from his eyes. Nothing but admiration reflects back at me, abundantly proving I'm not the only one who has fallen head over heels in a matter of hours. He loves me too.

  Rico places a kiss on the edge of my mouth, drawing my sole devotion back to him.

  “Are you sure this is what you want, Blaire?” he asks with his gorgeous dark eyes dancing between mine. “This is your last chance to back away. Once this happens, I’ll never give you up, so I need you to be sure.”

  I cup the edge of his jaw and return his devoted stare. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life," I reply, only just concealing my smile at the way his jaw twitches under my touch. “I love you, Enrique. From the tips of your toes to the top of your gorgeous head.”

  Blood surges to my heart, making it swell even more when the most captivating smile stretches across Rico’s face. . .

  I gasp in a quick breath, shell-shocked by my admission in my flashback. I’ve never spoken those three words to another man before. But I was fully willing and able to give them to Rico within hours of meeting him. What type of drug was I given that it knocked down my walls so quickly?

  My eyes stray to the side when a cold hand gives relief to my flaming cheeks. Rico's dark eyes are rapt on me. His gaze is primal, dominating and strong, and it adds to the heat rushing to the surface of my skin.

  “You remembered.”

  Although he appears to be asking a question, his powerful gaze isn’t reflecting that. He seems to know me well enough to know where my thoughts strayed to. That adds even more astonishment to the giddiness clustered in my baffled brain.

  When I nod to his question, the first lot of tears spill from my eyes. Rico intakes a sharp breath before the back of his fingers slides across my cheek, catching my tears in one swift motion.

  “If you remember, Kitten, why are you crying?” His voice is gravelly and crammed with worry.

  Noticing his eyes are wearing the same tender look they had in my memory, my heart swells. Even digging through the mountain load of darkness suffocating his beautiful eyes, I can tell Rico cares for me. I’d be lying if I said he was the only one harboring unexplainable feelings.

  Even knowing Rico isn’t a man I should fall in love with, I can’t deny the weird sensation my heart gets every time he is near. I’ve tried to ignore it. It isn’t possible. Although Rico is technically a stranger, in my heart, I feel like I’ve known him half my life.

  While I'm being totally forthright, I'll admit just the idea of falling in love with a man who equally thrills and terrifies is a truly petrifying notion. When I'm with Rico, it feels like I'm standing at the crest of a very large waterfall. It's beautiful from the high vantage point, but if I jump off the edge, what's hidden beneath the water waiting for me? Am I plunging into a sea of blackness? Or something truly magical?

  When I fail to answer his question, a stormy cloud of concern forms in his tempestuous gaze. I try to get my mouth to cooperate with my brain, to say something to ease the hurt in his eyes, but nothing comes out. Not a single peep. When more tears unwillingly spill from my eyes, Rico scoops me into his arms and pulls me into his chest.

  “Shh, Kitten, sh
h. You’re okay.” His deep tone is just as rickety as my composure.

  Even knowing I’m balancing precariously on the crest of a very steep waterfall, I nuzzle into Rico’s chest and accept his comfort without protest, throwing my lingering wariness to the side for a few moments with the hope of gathering my scattered composure.

  I sit in silence for several moments, feeling like everything in my world has been upended. It might seem a little dramatic to outsiders, but in reality, it's true. In a matter of a week, everything I knew about my life changed. My career, my marital status, my heart. In the blink of an eye, I went from a kindergarten teacher to mob wife: two vastly contrasting roles.

  While sitting here wallowing about being forced into a family I would have never chosen to become a part of, a new reality dawns on me. Rico never had a choice either. He was born into his role. I had a normal upbringing with two loving parents nurturing me. Rico was raised by a monster.

  My pupils widen when the veracity of my last statement dawns on me. I've heard those exact words before, and no, I'm not referring to the time Rico said it in the back of the Escalade after signing our annulment pages.

  I close my eyes as my brain labors over the last time I heard that statement.

  When another memory smashes into me, I inhale a quick, jagged breath. . .

  “No, Blaire, you do not belong in this lifestyle. I will not drag you into the darkness.”

  I tighten my grip on Rico’s hand and dig my heels into the ground. Even though a man of Rico’s size could easily yank me across the pristine marble floors, he stops walking and spins around to face me. Excitement mingled with anxiety lines his face.