by Renee Rose
“What?” His brows slam down, nostrils flare.
I’ve really offended him.
“Never.” He shakes his head emphatically. “I would never hit a woman. Not for any reason, other than the one you already know.” He squeezes my ass to make it clear which one that is.
I suck in a breath. Crazy Caitlin wants to get this all settled and out in the open. “Have you ever killed a woman?”
“No. But I don’t answer questions like that, Caitlin. Don’t ask me about anything illegal ever again. I won’t answer—for your own protection. Capiche?”
A shiver runs down my spine, but far from scaring me off, I’m just more turned on. My nipples pebble up. I don’t even know why that turns me on. He’s dangerous, but he has this code he lives by. He doesn’t hurt women. He doesn’t talk about what he’s done.
It’s far different from the way my dad would endlessly brag about the small-time operations he was a part of.
I initiate the kiss this time and he lets me lead, fingers tightening on my back.
“I’m sorry I offended you earlier,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t offended.” But I know it’s not true. And now that I’ve seen a little sliver of the man beneath the tough guy, I feel more comfortable with our arrangement.
Relationship.
With being his girlfriend.
I’m still nervous. I still have reservations, the main one still revolving around my father’s death. Like—did one of his brothers do it? One of their soldiers? He’s already told me he won’t tell if he finds out. Can I really open my heart to an actual relationship with a man whose family is responsible for the wrecking of mine?
It’s a hard hump to get over.
But I can try.
Chapter 9
Paolo
“Take that!” Caitlin jumps up and down on the bed naked, throwing pillows at me. When she runs out of missiles, I tackle her to the mattress and spank her ass.
It’s been two weeks since we entered our arrangement. I’m not the kinda guy who’s ever really considered happiness, but I think I’ve found it. I split my time between Caitlin’s apartment and my house, trying to leave her enough time to study and teach her classes and, of course, work out, because those are the things she enjoys.
And the rest of the time I do my best to spoil her with food, sex, experiences. I keep her wallet loaded with money, not that she ever spends much.
“It’s the weekend, what should we do?” I ask, biting her shoulder. “Do you have a lot of work?”
“I always have work, but let’s do something. Let’s—” She gasps. “I know!”
I roll her over so I can see her face. “What?”
Uncertainty flickers there. “Um, do you want to go to Vegas?”
I slide my fingers between her wet folds. “Do you?”
She squeezes her thighs around my hand. “Well,” she says breathlessly. “I’ve never been. And I heard there’s this really great casino there.”
“Yeah, but I heard they have shitty cybersecurity.” I raise my brows.
She wriggles her hips when I sink a finger in her wet heat. “Oh, I think it’s been beefed way up. But um… do you think they’ll let me in?”
I scoff. “It’s my place, doll. Nobody’s going to throw you out. Let’s go.”
“Really?” She scrambles off the bed and out of my reach, already dashing for the closet to pull out a ridiculous purple suitcase. “I’ve never been before. I’ve always wanted to go. I’m so excited!”
I smile. The warmth in my chest is a new feeling. All of this is. Her excitement. Her receptivity. Her laughter. I’ve never had anything like this before and it feels damn good. I get to see all parts of Caitlin now—the crazy, the fun, the serious, the hard-working. And I’m charmed by all of them.
The safer she feels with me, the more her crazy softens into child-like enthusiasm and joy.
I sit and watch her pack as she bombards me with questions about what she’ll need. “Swim suit?”
I nod. “Three pools. All warm.”
“Fancy clothes? Sexy clothes?”
“Anything goes. What would be fun for you, little hacker?”
“How about this?” She holds up a bright red dress with swaths of see-through red fabric across the belly and neckline and arms.
“Perfect. Sexy always flies in Vegas.”
I get on my phone and find us the next first-class flight out of Chicago.
Two hours later, we’re in the air.
Caitlin’s practically bouncing in her seat, her fingers twined with mine. She leans over and flicks her tongue in my ear. “Have you joined the mile high club?”
“Do you want to?”
She nods. I’m not about to tell her I already have—with some stripper on a party jet once—not when she’s so excited. I glance around us, then at the bathrooms.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll book a private jet for the flight home. We will never both fit in those bathrooms and I’m not about to let anyone see you doing anything out here.”
“A private jet? Are you serious?”
I pinch her chin and pull her face forward for a kiss. “If you’re a good girl.”
“I’ll be good,” she purrs. “Or a bad girl. Whatever you want.”
“I want you every way,” I tell her.
Caitlin
I’ve never been on vacation, except for the summer trips to our grandparents’ cabin. Trevor and I used to spend all day up there boating around on the lake, playing in the forest, catching frogs and fish.
When my dad died, the cabin passed on to us, but we haven’t been there much. It’s hard when neither of us has a driver’s license to get there.
But Vegas is everything I imagined. Bright lights, people everywhere. Something interesting to look at in every direction.
The Bellissimo is incredible. A porter dashes out to open the door to the limo when we arrive. He takes my hand and helps me out of the car.
“Welcome, Mr. Tacone,” he says, inclining his head when Paolo gets out. “I’ll get your bags right up to your suite.” He hands him a room key envelope.
Paolo takes the key and puts his hand on my lower back, guiding me into the lobby. The Bellissimo itself is smaller than many of the other casinos on the strip—more of a boutique, which is what makes it so popular. It’s plush and posh on the inside, with Italian marble everywhere, and a rainbow bridge of real flowers. My eyes are probably as wide as saucers as we go in.
It occurs to me I should act like a grownup—like I’m not so impressed and I travel all the time. But with Paolo, I don’t have to. I can be Crazy Caitlin, and he thinks I’m cute without underestimating me.
So I let her out to run and explore.
Our room is way at the top—on the 26th floor and it’s bigger than my entire apartment. It’s a suite with a living room and a kitchen and the most luxurious bathroom I’ve ever seen. There’s a giant jacuzzi tub and a walk-in shower with two showerheads.
“Last one in the shower is a rotten egg!” I shout, stripping my clothes off.
Paolo joins me, not rushing, not slow. Just his usual steady, solid, imposing way. He fills the giant shower stall and it immediately seems more like a normal size.
I drop to my knees and give him my best thank you blow job. He grips my head, but his touch is gentle; he’s massaging my scalp as he pulls me over his cock. “Caitlin…”
I try to look up through the spray of water and he moves his back to block it from hitting my face.
“You’re beautiful, doll. You give the best head.” He’s already losing control. “You gonna swallow me down like a good girl?”
I nod and massage his balls, which are tightened up, ready to release. He comes and pulls me up to stand. Kisses me so hard I lose my breath. It’s a violent, claiming kiss and it makes my knees go weak. When he releases my face and strokes my clit, I shiver, teetering on the edge of an orgasm.
“Don’t come,” he murmurs.
I pout. “Orgasm denial is mean.”
His brows lift. “That a thing? Of course that’s a thing.”
Damn! I am an idiot for telling him.
“You’re definitely going to have to wait, then.” He removes his fingers from my pussy and I nearly weep.
“No, no, no, no,” I beg. “Don’t make me wait. I’ll go crazy.”
I see the sadist in his grin. “Good.” He gives me a slap on the ass. “Now go get ready, so I can show you around.”
I climb out of the shower and wrap one of the posh bathrobes around me to head to the bedroom. My body’s on fire from the edging and I jump up and down to let some energy off.
Maybe this is all I need to do to make sure I never disassociate again. Just edge myself in the morning with a vibe as a preventative measure. I grin at the idea.
A knock sounds on the door. Paolo’s still in the shower, so I go answer the door.
A younger version of Paolo stands there. He’s shockingly handsome, and his aura is smooth, debonair and sophisticated where Paolo’s is rugged and tough.
His brows shoot up when he sees me. “Oh. I didn’t know Paolo had a guest.”
Oh crap. And I’m the girl who stole a hundred fifty grand from his family. I hope he’s as forgiving as Paolo.
I stick out my hand, still damp from the water. “Hi, I’m Caitlin.” I sound overly bright. Crazy Caitlin is showing and I don’t want her to. I want to be normal. Likeable.
In the bathroom, the shower turns off. I pray Paolo will get out here and fix this before I get thrown in Lake Mead.
“Wait… Caitlin West?” his voice drips disbelief. Or shock.
Shit.
Paolo said I wouldn’t get kicked out, but I’m not sure his brother’s on the same page.
“One fucking word and I’ll smash your face in,” Paolo growls from the bedroom door. He’s wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and it couldn’t be more obvious that we just showered together.
His brother flicks his gaze from Paolo to me and back again, his expression growing interested. He leans against the doorway. “I see.”
“I’m serious.” Paolo stalks forward.
“I’m not gonna say anything,” his brother says mildly, holding his hands up in surrender. “But for future reference, a little communication is all it takes, P. Send a quick text—the hacker is my girl now, treat her with respect—that’s all.”
“Fuck you, stronzo.”
“Yeah, fuck you, too,” he says, but his tone is good-natured and the two men clasp hands and shake. “I’d hug you, but it looks like you’re a little wet.” He stretches his hand out to me. “I’m Stefano. Paolo’s brother.”
“My baby brother,” Paolo says.
“I can tell.” I shake his hand.
“Enjoy your time at the Bellissimo.” He pulls a Bellissimo poker chip out of his pocket and hands it to me. My eyes bug out when I see it has $500 printed in the middle. Maybe he doesn’t hold a grudge.
To Paolo, he says, “I’m guessing you don’t have time for a family dinner?”
Paolo shoots a glance at me. “No, that’d be good, actually. I need to talk to you and Nico and Vlad.”
A prickle runs down my spine. It’s clearly something I can’t hear. Is it about me? No, I’m getting paranoid again. Nothing’s going to happen.
Stefano cocks his head like he’s surprised, but he pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Alessia to set it up. Tonight? Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Grazie, Stefano.” He says something else in Italian that I don’t understand and Stefano shuts the door.
“You okay? Did he offend you?”
I hold up the five hundred dollar token. “I guess we’re good.”
Paolo’s expression turns indulgent. “You can gamble to your little heart’s delight, doll. We got you covered.”
I want to blow him all over again, but the edging has me zinging, plus I can’t wait to get downstairs and see the casino, so I scurry to put on my red dress and dry my hair.
Two hours and three signature cocktails later, I’m tipsy as hell and up sixteen hundred dollars. My coding brain is all over the roulette wheel. There are easy rules to winning with it. I bet red—for the lucky dress—every time. If I lose, I double the bet the next time. The only way the method doesn’t work is if you run out of money before you make it back. Fortunately, that hasn’t happened. I’m not sure Paolo would even let it happen. He stands at my back playing sugar daddy. Protecting me, ordering me drinks, making small rumbles of approval every time.
The cocktail waitress comes by and hands me another drink, but Paolo takes it from my hand.
I turn to run a fingertip over his fine Italian suit jacket. “Am I cut off, big man?” I might be slurring slightly.
“Let’s get some food into you first, doll.”
“Oh yeah. I guess we skipped dinner.” I also might be swaying slightly. It’s a good call on his part, because now that he mentions dinner, I realize I’m getting a little nauseous, which is unusual for me.
Paolo asks the croupier to change out my chips and he tucks them in his pocket. “I’ll keep them for you, unless you want to hold them?”
"No, you can. I'm rich." I beam at him.
We turn to leave but we're blocked by a tall gorgeous redhead in stilettos. "Paolo, good to see you." She leans in and they exchange cheek kisses on both sides. She's cool and sophisticated. Not overly eager. Definitely confident.
I instantly hate her until Paolo says, "Caitlin, this is Corey, my sister-in-law—Stefano's wife."
I relax into a smile and shake her hand. She looks to be my age—maybe we’ll be friends. Even drunk I realize what a crazy thought that is. Am I actually inserting myself into Paolo’s life? Like I’m really seeing things long-term with him?
I think I am.
"Oh hi. I met your husband earlier. Nice to meet you."
"Same. Are you having fun? Looks like you know how to play the hell out of the roulette table."
“Corey used to work as a croupier here until Stefano snatched her away. She’s also a poker champ,” Paolo says.
Corey lifts her brows in surprise and jerks her thumb at him. “I’ve never heard him so conversational before. Who knew?”
I beam, because she’s right, he does conserve words and I have a feeling he’s using them now to put me at ease. I stand on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. “He saves his words up for when I need them.” I hope she can’t tell how drunk I am.
Corey splits a glance between us and smiles. “I’m glad you came, Caitlin.” She seems to really mean it.
“We’re going to get some food,” Paolo tells her. “See you tomorrow for sure.”
As Paolo leads me away I say, "It’s a good thing she’s married. I thought I was going to have to throat punch her there for a minute."
Paolo stops and pulls me into his arms, amusement and affection dancing on his normally inexpressive face. "I told you, little hacker. I don't cheat."
I blink up at him. I'm swoony but I'm also drunk. I want to hash everything out now. All the crazy thoughts swirling through my brain about why I shouldn’t be with him. Right here on the casino floor. In front of everyone. "What if I cheat?"
His brows slam down. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Clearly the wrong thing to ask.
But I want to know. He says he won't hurt me but he's a dangerous man. What happens if I cross a line? What are those lines?
"I won't—I don't either," I assure him quickly. I grab his arm. "I promise. It's just—"
"What?" He's still pissed. That shouldn't excite me. I am wired so wrong.
Because I'm tipsy, I lightly slap his chest. "You kidnapped me and threatened my brother's life! I just need to know what happens if I piss you off."
Anger ripples over Paolo's expression and he steps back and scrubs a hand over this face. Then he shakes his head. "No more of this," he says.
I shake my head. I'm already getting
queasy. "You can't tell me no more."
Of course he can. He just did. And that's exactly the point I'm testing here. I'm with a dangerous, controlling man.
He throws his hands in the air in that distinctly Italian way. “What do you want from me?”
"What if I ran away?"
"You gonna run?"
"No, but what if I did? What’s the line?”
Exasperation dances over his face and he narrows his eyes, but I can tell he’s thinking about his answer. “Okay, where’s the line?” He catches my chin and lifts it to bring our faces close. “If it’s business, I’m gonna deal with you in a business-like fashion. You steal from the casino, you threaten my family, talk to the Feds, we’re done and the gloves come off. If it’s personal, I’m not a douche. You break my heart, there’s no retribution. That plain enough for you?”
He’s annoyed with me, but I’m too dizzy over his words.
You break my heart…
That implies he has a heart to break. And that he’s given it to me.
Can that be possible?
I beam at him. “Yes. Thank you.”
He frowns. “Yes? I said the right thing? I’m not sure how that’s possible. Little girl, you never swing the way I think you will.”
My smile gets wider. “And that’s why you love me,” I sing.
His lips slowly quirk. "You're lucky you're so fucking cute." He throws me over his shoulder and carries me through the throng of staring strangers until we reach one of the restaurants in the casino. There he sets me down gently and straightens my clothes.
“Table for two, Mr. Tacone?” the hostess chirps.
He nods. When she walks away, he says, "Stop planning for the end, Caitlin." His voice is gruff but I catch a trace of vulnerability in his expression, and I suddenly regret all my doubt.
And he's right. I'm still planning the end because that's all I've known in relationships.
I step into him and nuzzle his neck. I kiss the skin above his collar.
He cradles my head with both hands. “I really like you, Caitlin.”