I smirk. “You can say or not say whatever the hell you want. I’m not going to judge you.”
No, I’m going to fucking adore her. I’m going to worship her, and then I’m going to show her what’s required of her when I drag her into the bedroom and make her mine.
“How are things now that you’re back Stateside?” I ask. “Caught up with any old boyfriends?”
This is a clumsy way to phrase it, fine, but I don’t give a damn. Maybe this will be my way of stopping my surging need-her thoughts, and yet somehow I doubt it.
If she told me she has a boyfriend I’d be far more likely to hunt the bastard down and do something stupid and unfair.
She giggles, shaking her head.
“What’s so funny?” I growl.
“Just the idea of me having a boyfriend, I guess.”
“Why is that funny?”
“I’ve just never had one,” she murmurs, her eyes flitting nervously to me in the rearview mirror.
She bites her lip in that tempting-as-fuck way, causing my balls to swell and pulse even more.
Relief and desire war in me when she releases her lip, making me want to roar at her to bite it again, bite it like the horny sex-goddess she is… or I’ll make her once I finally make my move.
But I can’t make a move, I remind myself.
Ever.
So all I’m doing is torturing myself with thoughts of her.
“Never?” I ask.
“Nope.” She shrugs. “I guess… It doesn’t matter.”
I lean forward, passion surging in my body, pulsing hotly through me.
“It does matter,” I growl. “What were you going to say?”
She lets out a breathy moan at my intensity, making me wonder if I’ve gone too far. But the uncertainty doesn’t last long as my attention latches onto the sound of that moan instead, to the way it shivers in the air, my cock pulsing like a heartbeat with the hungry demand to be inside of her.
“Just that guys aren’t really interested in me. When I tell them about my rally racing – if it ever gets that far – they normally look at me like I’m crazy. But like I said, it rarely gets that far. I’ve never had much attention and I’m okay with that.”
It takes everything I have not to punch the air in celebration, to let out a goddamn whoop of relief.
That means nobody is attached to her, nobody lurking in the background who mistakenly thinks he has as much of a claim on my woman as I do.
I sit back, shaking my head.
“That’s their fucking loss, then,” I snarl, unable to stop myself, even if I know it’s wrong, even if I know all the problems it could cause down the line.
I can’t let her sit there with the ridiculous belief that she’s somehow not worthy of male attention. No, not male attention… my attention.
“Huh?” she murmurs.
I could take the comment back now. We’re almost at the offices, turning into the short lane that leads to the underground parking lot. I could laugh away my remark and tell her that, as a family friend, I think she’s a lovely young lady or whatever.
I could keep it casual.
But I’ve withheld this raging inferno within me for long enough.
It may have only been a day, but it feels like a century.
“You’re beautiful, Molly,” I tell her firmly. “You’re passionate. You’re interesting. You’re sexy as fuck.”
We buck forward when somebody suddenly darts out in front of the car and Molly slams on the brakes, the seatbelt cutting into my chest, cutting into the moment.
“What the heck?” she murmurs, as the man just stands there, staring at us.
He’s a Latino man wearing a T-shirt with two sleeves of tattoos, and his golden tooth winks at us as a sickly smile spreads across his face.
I recognize him for the Cartel immediately. It’s in the way he stands, the way he smiles, the way he stares.
It’s easier to recognize a member of the underworld when you are one yourself.
“What should I do?” she says.
“Just wait,” I growl, watching him. “My security will be on him soon. And unless he’s got a nuke he can’t do shit while we’re in here. This car is damn-near indestructible.”
A stupider man would push the door open and charge out there, but I didn’t become one of the most powerful men on the east coast by taking foolish risks. It would be the easiest thing in the world for this idiot to bait me out and then for a sniper to take me out.
The man lifts his hand and drags his thumb across his throat, staring at the car.
“Amateur bullshit.” I chuckle grimly. “It’s supposed to scare us.”
His grin falters and he looks past the car, and I turn to see my security stalking across the street, their hands at their hips. They’ve parked in the middle of the road, cars blaring their horns loudly at their stopped cars.
The man ducks his head and runs down the street, turning and sprinting down an alleyway.
I shake my head as my hand curls into a tight, trembling fist, the rage almost forcing me from the car and after him myself. But I’m the leader of the pack, and if they somehow get their hands on me, they’ll be able to sweep into the city and spread their poison. As difficult as it is, I have to try and stay calm, even as hot fire flows through me at the thought of Juan sending one of his goons to threaten me when I’m with my woman.
Not that he knows she’s my woman.
I glance from the street to find Molly trembling, shaking as she grips the steering wheel in tight fists.
I reach forward and touch her shoulder, not even thinking about it. It just seems like the natural thing to do, as though I’ve comforted her a thousand times before. I can’t sit here and let her suffer alone, not when she’s going to give me a family one day, not when my chest tightens and pulses and hammers at the sight of her fear.
She makes a soft whimpering noise, biting her lip and then letting it go.
“I’m fine,” she says, her teeth clamped tightly. “Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. That’s all. I’m overreacting.”
“I’d die before I let anything happen to you,” I snarl.
Her eyes widen in shock. “But why?”
My cellphone blares from my pocket. I don’t want to answer it.
I want to answer her question.
But it’s the shrill ringtone I’ve assigned to Cillian’s emergency phone. He knows only to use this number if there’s a serious problem, and I can’t ignore it, no matter how badly I want to crush it into tiny fragments in my fist and elaborate to my woman instead.
I take it out and answer, forcing down a whelming ball of livid fury.
“Yes?” I snap.
“Boss, you need to get up here,” he says. “I’ve got a kid here who says the Cartel have moved into their neighborhood. Motherfuckers have been using kids as mules, hiding their faces to try and keep it quiet.”
“Fuck,” I growl. “Okay. I’m coming up.”
I end the call and turn back to Molly. I can’t tell her what I want – what I need – to tell her, because I know once I do I’ll need to claim her pouting lips at the very least.
“Take us to my parking spot. I want you to wait in my offices while I handle this business. That motherfucker saw your face and I can’t risk him targeting you. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.”
My words surge out, boiling through me.
Molly lets out a shivering moan and then nods, guiding us into the parking garage. I glance at the sidewalk to see my security team emerge… without the Cartel member. It doesn’t matter. Juan ordered him to send a message, and I’ve received it.
He will regret his decision.
Chapter Nine
Molly
I sit in the large break room, with couches lining the walls and arcade machines in the corner. The place is open-plan, a cavernous room with a small gym in the opposite corner to the arcade area.
It’s
clear that even though Murphy made his start in life from being a mob boss, he’s expanded his business into legitimate areas.
A group of twenty-somethings walk past the door to the break room, talking loudly, their happy voices raised, looking nothing like mob guys. I hear one of them talking about the graphic design for a charity, and my heart soars in my chest, pulsing happily.
Murphy built this place, and they’re talking about making the world better…
You’re beautiful, he growls in my mind. You’re passionate. You’re interesting. You’re sexy as fuck.
He said those words to me, in his fierce possessive voice, growled them at me like he was going to pounce on me right there. And then that man appeared, dragging his hand across his throat, staring at the car with deathly intent in his eyes, and it shattered the moment.
But he said it, didn’t he?
I’m not imagining it.
No, because after, he said, “I’d die before I let anything happen to you.”
And the way he said it, it wasn’t like he was talking to a family friend. It wasn’t like he was just being polite. It was like he wanted me.
I wring my hands, trying to work these ridiculous thoughts out of my head. But I’m not sure how I can call them ridiculous when it just freaking happened.
He’s got me doubting my sanity as I go over and over his words, remembering the husky way his voice wavered when he called me beautiful, remembering the way his possessive eyes glinted when he said he’d never let anything happen to me.
I stand, letting out a sigh, and walk over to the empty arcade area. I play Space Invaders in an attempt to try and distract myself from these warring thoughts – the self-doubt going to battle with the need – imagining that as I blast away the aliens I’m blasting away the thoughts.
But they only grow stronger and louder in my mind, screaming at me that this is it, the moment I’ve been waiting forever since I started crushing on this hulking handsome beast of a man. This is where it was all leading, all along, the need and the heat and the closeness.
I’m not sure how long I spend moving from machine to machine, playing Pac-Man, and a few other retro games.
I’ve never been much of a video game player, but when I find the rally-racing game – tucked away in the corner, I didn’t see it at first – a warm smile spreads across my face.
I sit in the chair and grab the steering wheel, tingles of excitement moving over my body even if I know it isn’t real.
While the other games did nothing to distract me from the gnawing desire that heats my every breath, the rally game actually allows me to push my thoughts aside for a few precious minutes… or hours. When I beat the first level and then the second, time seems to fall away and it’s just me and the car.
Of course, it’s nowhere near as good as the real thing, but the feeling of racing around a track – of not having to stop at endless red lights and worry about getting lost – is liberating, like heavy chains have been removed from my ankles.
I’m consumed by the game, sweat pricking my forehead, my upper lip salty with it. My concentration is absolute, my heart pounding in my chest, as I shift gears and take the corners. The game gives me way more leeway than a real car does, letting me slide around the track like I’m slipping on Jell-O.
I leap up and let out a gasp when people start applauding behind me, a cacophony of clapping.
I turn to find a dozen or so people gathered, with Murphy standing at the front of them. His eyes gleam as he takes me in, his powerful hands clapping together louder than any of his employees’. They’re all gathered behind him, smiling over at me, and I turn to see what they’re clapping at.
I look out of the windows near the machine, but there’s nothing.
Murphy walks over to me, bringing his powerful scent with him, his smirk causing my skin to tingle with uncertainty.
Is he mocking me, or did he mean what he said in the car?
“Are you clapping for me?” I ask in disbelief, as the realization dawns.
“Of course we are,” he growls, standing so close I’m sure I can feel the heat of his skin, tickling over my body, making my cheeks bloom and my sex sizzle. “That was amazing. We’ve been watching you for the last two tracks.”
“I didn’t even realize,” I murmur.
His employees drift away, back to the office, some of them moving to other machines, making it feel as though Murphy and I are alone.
“That’s because you were so consumed with the game,” he says, with a hint of something in his voice, but I can’t tell if it’s good or bad. “That was amazing to watch. I’ve tried that game myself, and goddamn, Molly, I’ve never gotten past the third track. You’re talented.”
I bite my lip, repressing the urge to reach up and smooth my hair over my face. “It’s just a game.”
He moves even closer, his cologne and his just-Murphy muskiness enveloping me. “No, it’s not,” he snarls. “It’s evidence of your talent, your passion, your enthusiasm, all the reasons that will make you…”
He trails off, his jaw pulsing, as he seems to remember where we are, that we’re not alone. “Come on. Let’s go to my office.”
“Is your business done?” I ask.
He grimaces, glancing at his employees, and then nods shortly. “Come on.”
He leads me through the office toward the elevator at the very rear, polished to a shiny finish, gleaming so brightly I can see our reflections in it.
It’s like I’m having some sort of out of body experience as I study these two people, the curvy girl stuffed into an unflattering driver’s uniform and the slick hulking giant in his silver suit, with his sleek hair and his muscles threatening to bulge out of his suit at any moment.
The doors open, pushing aside our reflections, and he gestures for me to step inside.
All the reasons that make you…
What the heck was he going to say? Why did he trail off like that?
He presses a button for the top floor and then the doors close, locking us in together. I fight the insane urge to reach out and touch his arm, to squeeze and see if it feels as hard as it looks, all that throbbing muscle contained within his moon-colored suit.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
I’m not even sure why I throw the question out there.
It’s not an appropriate thing for his driver to ask, but it’s like I can feel the anger – the passion – that something moving through him as he simmers beside me. His breathing has turned growly, husky.
“You’re asking me if I’m okay?” he growls, turning to me with fresh intensity in his eyes. “You were the one who was shaken up by that motherfucker. Are you okay, Molly?”
I nod, his concern sending petals of gratitude flurrying through me. “Yes, thank you. Like I said, I think I overreacted—”
“No,” he snarls, stepping close to me, almost pressing me right up against the wall.
“No?” I whimper, gazing in disbelief up at him.
Does he know his rock hard body is almost grazing my sensitive breasts? Does he know my sex is hot and wet, my nipples hard, my deep-inside place is getting louder with demands for him?
“You don’t have to devalue your feelings, Molly,” he growls. “Not with me—not ever. Do you understand? Never.”
“I…”
The elevator doors open with a beep, cutting off whatever the heck I was going to say. It’s probably a good thing because I have no idea what I could say to that.
He steps aside with a cocky-as-hell smirk, waving a hand. “After you.”
I walk from the elevator into the hallway, with modern art on the walls and a door at the end of it.
As I head toward the door, I get the insane feeling that he’s staring at me, that his gaze is moving up and down my body greedily.
Chapter Ten
Murphy
“This is amazing,” Molly says, standing at my floor to ceiling windows as she gazes down upon the city.
But I’m not
interested in the view of the skyscrapers, the river, and the bridges clawing here and there like metal arms. I’m not interested in my large office with its massive oak desk and conference table in the corner, punching bag hanging from the ceiling in the opposite corner, and a bar nestled against the wall.
No, the only view I care about is my woman, standing at the window silhouetted by the sunlight, her round tempting ass squeezed into those uniform trousers, roaring at me to peel them away, to reveal her voluptuous skin.
The business with Cillian has left a sour taste in my mouth. We arranged for our contacts in the neighborhood to monitor their corners and stop all child-based drug dealing, and we also contacted our friends in law enforcement to let them know what’s happening.
Juan is fucking crazy if he thinks he can start a drug empire in this city.
But right now I don’t care about any of that, which says a damn lot.
Before this perfect woman came along, I could never let work go, even when I knew it would be better for me in the long run, even when I knew forgetting about work for a while would make me more effective when I returned to it.
“Yes,” I growl, devouring that perfect gorgeously thick body with my eyes. “It’s the best view a man could ask for.”
She turns to me, her lips pouted, as though a part of her knows I’m not talking about the city but she can’t let herself believe me.
Can she really have any doubt now, after what I said to her in the car?
Maybe she feels awkward. Maybe she doesn’t want to betray her father.
I should remember Henry.
But I can’t, not when we’re alone, not when my cock is metal hard in my pants, the tension at my base making clear thought impossible.
“Are we going to talk about what I said in the car?” I say, my smirk widening across my face when she averts her gaze, biting her lip in that perfect way she has.
It’s like she designs her every gesture, her every breath to drive me as crazy as she possibly can, and yet I know she’s not doing it on purpose. She’s not like the socialites and the underworld women who have tried to attract me ever since I took the mob crown.
Driving the Mob: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Page 5