TOMMASO (Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. Book 2)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  He nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

  “I lost my mother about two years ago,” I said. “She died in a car accident.” Really, she was crazy and never should’ve been behind the wheel. She drove her car right into a telephone pole while going ninety. To this day, I wondered if she was running from something or just unaware of how fast she was going.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said quietly. “Do you have any other family? And before you ask, yes, this is one of my ten questions.”

  Question number two. “I have two cousins from Cleveland.”

  “That’s it? No siblings? No—not part of my ten questions.”

  “Honestly, there’s just Sadie and Nell, my cousins.”

  “And their parents?” he asked.

  “Technically, Aunt Claire—who was my mother’s twin—is missing, but she’s presumed dead. Sadie’s dad, Uncle Chuck, was a lunatic—some violent criminal or something, so my aunt Claire ran away. The horrible part was how she left Sadie and Nell behind.” Oddly, my mother once showed me a picture of Sadie, and we actually looked alike. So much so that when I was younger, I fantasized that she was my twin sister. Not that being an only child was bad—my mother, who had been a financial analyst for a big bank in town before she went off the deep end, definitely overcompensated with the toys and clothes. But family was the one thing I never had much of.

  “How tragic for your cousins. Do you ever speak to them?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I want to. I really do, but I’m afraid.”

  “That they’ll be like their father,” he guessed correctly.

  “Yes. But I recently found out Sadie moved to L.A. I got invited to some big party she was supposed to be at, and I wasn’t planning to attend until this crazy woman, Cimil, tracked me down and convinced me if I went, I’d meet the perfect man, too. She claimed to be some famous matchmaker.” Honestly, repeating the story aloud made me realize how bonkers it sounded. It was as if I’d been under some strange mind control after speaking to that woman.

  I expected Tommaso to laugh at me, but he simply looked intrigued. “This is the party that Andrus attended.”

  “Yes.” I still thought it was pretty strange that they knew each other, but the one thing I’d learned was that this world was full of strange.

  “Well, I for one am happy you did not end up with him. You deserve a man who’s completely committed to you and only you.”

  I stared for a moment, imagining Tommaso being that man—vacations in Tuscany or, even better, on some secluded virgin beach with white sand and glassy turquoise water. Him lying next to me in an oversized hammock while we sipped piña coladas—no, wait, make that ice-cold beers with a slice of lime—gazing out at the ocean.

  I mentally sighed. Who the hell am I kidding? “I’d be happy with a man who’s close to my age, unmarried, debt-free, and reasonably good in the sack.” I slapped my hands over my mouth. “I sed dat outloud, di’in I?”

  Tommaso laughed with that hypnotically deep, masculine voice of his, and it felt like being covered in warm gooey caramel. So delicious.

  “Yes. I think you did,” he said, circling his finger on the rim of his wineglass. “But a woman like you really shouldn’t set her bar so low.”

  Flattery will get you everywhere, sir. “So you think I should set my bar up here?” I held my hand up above my head.

  “Higher.”

  I reached a little higher. “Here?”

  He pointed straight up toward the sky. “A little higher, honey.”

  I gave him a sideways glance. “You wouldn’t happen to be up there somewhere, would you?”

  He grinned. “Now you’re catching on.”

  “Someone has an ego.” I cracked a big smile. I just couldn’t help loving the way he seemed so comfortable in his own skin. Like his strength and masculinity radiated from somewhere deep inside him.

  He shrugged playfully and took a sip of his wine.

  As for me, my heart felt like it was flittering around inside my chest. What was it about this man that had me feeling so unlike myself—bold, lusty, and unafraid?

  “So, Tommaso, tell me, aside from thinking you’re the ultimate catch, how do you enjoy spending your time?”

  “The typical.” He stared hungrily from across the table. I had the impression his mind was on other things: me.

  My pulse rate accelerated while my muscles relaxed from the wine, my inhibitions fading with the sunlight outside.

  “What’s…typical?” I asked, my voice low and reflecting all the suggestive thoughts of ways I’d like to see him spending his time. Most involved him being naked. One may have involved him touching his hard cock while I watched.

  “I spend my time working, playing, doing the things that most do. But by far, I enjoy playing the most. As long as I’m in good company.” His words were charged with sexual innuendo, and I felt my panties steaming up. I wanted to reach across the table, pull his mouth to mine, and maul him with my tongue.

  “Aren’t you getting tired of this?” I asked.

  “Of what?”

  “This. Of us dancing around what’s really on our minds.” I couldn’t believe I was being so bold, but this man…this man…he was driving me crazy. I felt like I had to have him or I would die.

  “That depends.” He gave me a look so carnal that it made my toes curl in my tennis shoes.

  I took a sip of wine so my words wouldn’t stick in my throat. It didn’t work. “Depends on wha-what?”

  “Charlotte, are you really ready for us to take things to that level? The level where we’re being honest?”

  Feeling my c-spot tingling and my nipples pearling up, my mind started to zero in on exactly what it was ready for: Him. Me. Naked on top of this table.

  I bet he’s packing something impressive down there, too. The way he carried himself was like a bold advertisement that said, “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  I finished off my glass of wine and carefully set it down in front of me. “Yes. I am.”

  He leaned back in the chair, and from the way he sat, I could see a knee popping out from underneath the table. He had his legs wide open. Whether it was consciously done or not didn’t matter. It made me think that he was hard as a rock under this table, his shaft straining against those black slacks.

  “Prove it.” His voice dropped into a raw seductive tone.

  I pressed my thighs tightly together. “What would you like me to do?” I hoped he’d ask me to crawl over and help him out of those pants.

  An image of sucking him while he sat in that chair flashed in my mind.

  I had to stop torturing myself. I wasn’t really going to do this. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

  “Answer a question,” he said.

  “What do I get if I do?”

  “Anything you like,” he replied.

  I simply stared, trying to keep it together. “Anything” comprised a very long list of possibilities.

  “Tell me why you really brought me here,” he said.

  The honest answer was different from the reason I now wanted him to stay.

  “Okay.” I cleared my throat, ready to tell him a small part of the truth, but not everything. “Ever since I could remember, my mother talked about these creatures who fed on us—humans. I think that got me started on being paranoid at a young age.”

  His emotional temperature didn’t waver. “And how exactly do they feed?”

  “She said they’d seduce a person and then somehow suck the life from them.” Personally, I believed there was another sort of creature lurking out there that fed on fear.

  “Like a demon of sorts.”

  “I sound crazy, don’t I?” I asked.

  He hesitated before answering, which wasn’t a good sign. It meant that he likely wanted to think over his reply because he didn’t want to insult me.

  He leaned forward, his eyes intense and locked on my face. “I promised that I would help you, Charlotte. So whatever’s out there, I w
ill ensure you remain safe.”

  I believed him. Right down to the marrow in my bones. Which made me want him even more.

  He went on. “And I thank you for answering my question honestly. Now,” he rose from the chair, “let’s get you tucked into bed. I understand that I am quite skilled at the fucking part.”

  My breath stuck in my throat. Holy shit. This man is so damned…

  Our eyes locked and, as if he’d just read my thoughts, we rushed toward each other—me pushing up from my chair and it crashing to the floor; him bolting around the table, rushing toward me.

  Our bodies slammed together and our mouths collided in a carnal combustion of lips mashing, tongues thrusting, breaths mixing into one giant mess of lust.

  He spun us both around and popped my ass onto my dining table, pushing himself between my legs while his hands roamed wildly—my waist, ribcage, and breasts.

  “Gods, you’re so fucking sexy, Charlotte,” he panted.

  My arms locked around his neck, and I parted my thighs that extra inch to get him extra close.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. I felt his hard, thick shaft press against my throbbing c-spot. I’m going to…oh Godddd.

  He pushed his hard cock into me, through my pants, sending a spike of sensual shock waves through my core.

  I reached for his belt buckle, intent on removing those few pesky layers of horrible fabric between us.

  He gripped the hem of my shirt and pulled up, me only too happy to lift my arms and assist any way I could. I was generous like that.

  The moment my shirt came off, he pulled his head away and forcefully yanked down the front of my bra, exposing my breasts to make way for—ohhh…

  His lips parted, and my sensitive nipple entered the heat of his wet mouth as he sucked hard.

  “Oh, God. That feels so good,” I panted my words. The way his tongue massaged and lapped at the sensitive skin while his other hand—a lot rougher than I would’ve imagined—kneaded and pinched the other breast.

  I ran my hands through that damned sexy hair of his, enjoying the softness as I held him to my chest.

  The moment was over way faster than I wanted, but like me, he was not in leisurely lovemaking mode. He was on a mission.

  He pulled back and started unbuttoning his shirt, staring at me with a hungry, unapologetic gaze as if to say he wasn’t sorry for what he was about to do: fuck me hard.

  His shirt dropped to the ground, and my jaw dropped right along with it.

  Crap. I gasped in awe. That’s just not right. Olive skin, lean ropes of hard muscles down his thick arms, well-defined pecs, and chiseled ripples covering his stomach that looked like two sets of stepping-stones leading down to the giant bulge in his pants. Wait, what are all of those scars?

  It looked like he’d once been branded or sliced across his chest.

  I would have to ask him about it later, because right now, I wanted him and he wanted me. Nothing else mattered.

  He reached for the waistband of my pants, popped the top button and peeled them down quickly, my panties going along.

  He took a quick look at the throbbing space between my legs and made a deep masculine groan. “Very nice.”

  I felt a little self-conscious having this man stare at a place I rarely saw myself, but thankfully, he looked excited by whatever was down there because he shoved his body between my thighs.

  Oh, hell. My legs! I hadn’t shaved them in weeks. “Sorry about the stubble,” I panted.

  “I fucking love stubble.” He then pushed me back while reaching to free his cock from his pants. “On a woman, I mean. Specifically you.”

  Phew. “Thanks for clarifying.”

  “Any time.”

  His body leaning over me, his mouth now returning to mine, I felt the tip of his warm shaft pushing against my wet entrance.

  Ohgod. He felt so good. I couldn’t think or speak. I just needed him inside, pushing and sliding and grinding and cumming and—

  My doorbell rang, and we both froze. My blood pressure hit the floor, and panic washed over me, extinguishing my brainless sexual urges.

  He was still holding his rock-hard dick in his hand, hovering over me and readying to thrust. He looked me in the eyes. “Does anyone have the key to your front gate?”

  I shook my head no. But had my answer been “yes,” this moment would’ve been welcomed; fate stepping in to stop me from what would’ve been a huge mistake. Seriously. What was wrong with me, almost getting it on with this man right here on my table? (A) I was old enough to know better than to have unprotected sex—even if Tommaso completely sucked all rational thought from my mind. (B) I did not want to get involved with anyone. My life was…it was…it was complicated. And I refused to let someone watch me go crazy like I had to watch my mother.

  Anyway, getting back to the unknown person or persons at the door, my answer had been “no.” No one but me had a key, so this was time to panic in lieu of berating myself for coming ridiculously close to getting fucked on my dining room table.

  Speaking of fucking…

  “Fucking hell,” Tommaso said and quickly backed off, tucking himself away and zipping up, but not before I got a look at his equipment.

  Holy crap. It was thick and long and I already felt its absence.

  He looked at my naked body and the exposed flesh between my thighs, which I snapped closed, before he let out a quick sigh of regret and turned away.

  “You stay right there,” he barked, heading for the front door.

  “Wait!” I called out, sliding from the table and reaching for my pants and shirt. “Don’t open that!” Whoever it was had broken through the gate. I didn’t even receive mail or packages here; it all went to my P.O. box downtown.

  “Stay there, Charlotte,” he commanded.

  Like hell I will! I threw on my clothes inside out. Normally, I would’ve been running for the hills or my bedroom with the reinforced steel door and barred windows, but I felt uncharacteristically braver, stronger, and…well, protective. I didn’t want whatever was out there to hurt him. But before I could get to that door and make sure he didn’t open it, the thing swung wide open, the door itself blocking my view of whoever or whatever was there.

  “Tommaso, no!” I yelled.

  Still within view, he looked at me and held out his hand. “It’s all right. It’s for me.”

  Huh? “But who would—”

  “It slipped my mind,” he said hurriedly. “I told my colleague where to find me. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared outside, slamming the front door behind him.

  What in the…? So they broke through my gate? I went to the window and pulled back the curtain.

  Shirtless and looking very annoyed, Tommaso stood in my front yard—a rock garden with a few lonely palm trees—facing a man about his height who wore black cargo pants, a black tee, combat boots, and black baseball cap. Dark shades covered his eyes.

  “Who the hell is that?” I whispered aloud. The man looked like some sort of special ops gangsta. And down my driveway was a black SUV pulled to the side. I could see someone in the passenger seat, but couldn’t make out more than a large shadow.

  Okay, so now I really was beginning to wonder what Tommaso did for a living.

  I watched as Tommaso started yelling at the guy, and of course, I had to listen in, so I cracked open my window just in time to catch him saying, “We had a deal.”

  The man shook his head no and said something else, but I couldn’t hear.

  Whatever it was, though, Tommaso exploded. “That’s bullshit! I need more time! And what about Ashli? She was supposed to be here. What about your side of the deal?”

  The man shook his head no.

  Tommaso did not look happy. He then flipped his middle finger at whomever was in the SUV. From my window, all I could see was a large hand coming out of the car, flipping the bird right back.

  Tommaso turned away and headed back toward me. I expected the special ops guy to return to his vehicle, but he fol
lowed Tommaso right up to the porch, turned, and faced away like he was guarding the president.

  What the hell?

  Tommaso burst through the front door, his face a bitchy red. “You should go upstairs.”

  Now dressed, albeit sloppily, I jerked my head back. “Excuuuuse me?”

  He snapped his fingers and pointed up the stairs. “You. Upstairs. Now,” he repeated.

  “Hell no.”

  He marched towards me, and I was too stunned to do much more than throw up my arms to keep him back. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I can’t catch a break. That’s what’s fucking wrong with me. As for you, I’m sure your interest in me is superficially grounded or due to the fact that you’re tired.”

  Not true, but what was his point? “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I will watch over you as promised, and then we will go our separate ways.”

  Why had he turned on me like this? It made absolutely no sense. None whatsoever.

  “Tommaso,” I reached for his arm and squeezed, “what’s going on? Who are those men outside?”

  He blew out a long, angry breath that sounded more like a growl, looking embittered as hell. “They are not colleagues. These men are here to take me away.”

  I blinked at him. “Take you? Where?”

  “To prison.”

  I stepped back. “You mean they’re cops?”

  He shook his head no. “Think of them like a very secret branch of the military.”

  Ohmygod. I covered my mouth. “So that guy is standing on my porch to make sure you don’t run.”

  “More or less. Yes.”

  “Are you going, then?” I asked. I didn’t want him to leave because… Shit. Maybe he was right. It suddenly dawned on me that maybe the attraction I felt for him was “superficially grounded” because he made me feel safe.

  “I’m staying the night,” he replied. “As promised so you can sleep. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

  “Oh.” I nodded with my eyes glued to the floor.

  “And…my apologies for the way I spoke to you just now. This situation is not your fault.”