He had to give it to her; this time, she was as good as her word. He got word the next day that the two guys who had thought they could set up shop in his territory had been taken care of in a permanent fashion, and he appreciated her promptness in handling that. He'd increased his presence where they had poached to make sure that no one else tried to follow in their unfortunate footsteps.
He also hadn't heard a word from Allegra. Not a word since that night.
She was gone when he awoke and had been for quite some time, judging from the coolness of her side of the bed. How had she left without him knowing? He'd called Maury, ready to chew him out for taking her home, but he told him that he'd been home in bed the entire time, and Enzo was inclined to believe him. None of his cars or boats or jet skis were missing—besides, he would have heard her start any of those. She'd managed to make her escape in what seemed like total silence.
It was a mystery and that kind of thing didn't set well with him, especially considering the intelligence he was hearing from his guys on the streets about problems at the highest level of her organization that put her in danger. The first thing he'd done when he discovered she'd fled, just to reassure himself that she was all right, was call the man he'd tapped to tail her and to whom he had given the night off because she'd be with him. He wouldn't make that mistake again. But even if he hadn't been hearing alarming things that made him fear for her health, Enzo liked to know how things worked, especially when someone had gotten the best of him. He'd envisioned a long, languorous lovemaking session and the lack of it had left him surly to the point of violence.
And beyond that, he wanted to talk to her—needed to talk to her. What had happened between them was so hot and unexpected that he wanted to clarify where they stood with each other. Relationships such as he intended they would have didn't flourish if there wasn't clear communication between both participants. And, most of all, he didn't want to fuck this up.
Not only was he pondering the how, but also, why she had left him. He'd thought the evening had gone really well—most especially the last bit. Even weeks later, just beginning to think about the time they had spent together—even the tamer parts—got him hard as a rock.
If he'd had all the time in the world, he would have tailed her, himself, and kidnapped her back to the cabin, only this time, he'd make damned sure she didn't get away. As it was, pressing issues had kept him much too busy to indulge such an impulse, unfortunately, but he did add another man to watch out for her, as discreetly as possible, of course. But she was never far from his mind and he let her know that in subtle and not so subtle ways.
And he was smart about it—he didn't send her a Rolls Royce or a diamond bracelet—she would have rejected both of them outright as being much too extravagant. Some of them were a little over the top, but most of them were blatant attempts to take care of her in small ways, which scored big points in her book.
He sent a huge bouquet of lavender roses to her office the next day, and then, about once a week, sometimes more often, he sent her something else to remind her that he was still out there, that he still wanted her, and that he wouldn't wait forever for her to come to him—as unromantic as it sounded, he'd said as much as that in the note he'd included with a very sexy set of matching bra and panties he would love to see her in They consisted of a pair of antique white lacy cheeky panties, and he salivated every time he thought of her in them, along with a demi bra of the same color as well as a few touches of black lace around the edges. She was well endowed enough that she didn't need a push up bra, but he knew it would look spectacular on her—at least until he decided to peel it off.
But not all of his gifts were sexual in nature. He knew what breakfast she liked to order from a particular restaurant that he also knew she didn't get to very often anymore, so he contacted the owner and had it delivered to her just about the time he knew she got to the office in the morning.
He'd found out when she had an opening in her schedule and made an appointment for himself, but sent a masseuse over, instead.
One day, she opened her front door to find a fluffy white Maine Coon cat in a basket on her doorstep with a note that let her know that she was a rescue from the local Humane Society and her name was Angel.
So much for the ruthless mob boss persona, Ally'd thought as she'd rubbed her face against the kitten's soft fur.
A week or so after the kitten had come into her life, she found him waiting for her at her car when she left the office for the day, leaning against the driver's side door.
"You know you really should have someone doing your driving for you nowadays," he suggested, his tone letting her know that it wasn't a suggestion.
"I don't care. I like to drive. It gives me time to think," she informed him, already futzing with her keys to find the right one.
To make a point, Enzo caught the wrist in which she had the keys and hauled her up against him roughly. "You'd be dead right now if I had nefarious intentions, Allegra."
Ally merely arched an eyebrow at him with a small smile on her face. "Aren't all of your intentions nefarious, Enzo?"
Instead of answering her, he stepped back and relieved her of her briefcase. "Let me take that for you." He stowed it in back then guided her to the other side of the car with an insistent hand at the small of her back and opened the passenger's door for her. Sighing and knowing there was little she was going to do to dissuade him, Ally smirked as she took her seat. "I have a distinct memory of locking my car this morning."
He had the grace to blush a bit, but, after moving her seat back to accommodate his long legs, he joined her in the car and held out his hand to her. "And I'm sure you did. It would be the prudent thing to do." he replied smoothly, holding his hand out to her.
"What's the matter? Can't you start it without the key?" she asked pointedly.
"I'm sure I could hot wire it in a matter of minutes, but I'd rather spend the time with you, since the keys are in your hand."
Ally's grip on them tightened compulsively and she hesitated about giving them to him. "Why are you here?"
"I thought I'd take you out to dinner, maybe some dancing?"
At first, she wasn't sure whether or not he was joking, but Enzo rarely joked. She hadn't done either of those things in more time than she wanted to consider, but she wasn't at all sure she should do them with him. She certainly wanted to, but unfortunately, there were other considerations—other important considerations.
But how long had it been since she'd gone dancing? And, as she could remember from the various obligatory social functions they had both attended—although not together, obviously—Enzo was a wonderful dancer.
How would it feel to be held in those strong arms during a slow dance? The idea sent a shiver down her spine, partly because she knew where dancing might lead them at the end of the evening—if she allowed it. She already knew how those hands, those fingers, those lips could devastate her, driving her to the brink of desire and holding her there for as long as he wanted, and there was precious little she could do about it.
She ought to say no. She ought to turn him down flat. They could not become involved in a relationship. It just wasn't done. He had his business, and she had hers, and never the blah, blah, blah.
She shouldn't have let herself look up at him. His eyes were compellingly blue, stark and sharp, not asking but not quite telling—yet—either. She knew that if she got involved with him—especially having found out that he liked to spank—there was every possibility that he was going to begin to forgo asking entirely, and she wasn't at all sure she'd like that idea, despite the fact that the mere thought had her lower body spasming pleasurably.
For once, and probably at the worst time, she gave in and did what she wanted to do, rather than what was good for her, and she hoped she wouldn't regret her decision to throw caution to the wind and deepen her involvement with this very sexy, very dangerous man.
He was—almost—a perfect gentleman all evening, extremely a
ttentive and very romantic. She had thought he'd take her to the most expensive place in town, but instead, they ended up at a small supper club with a live band and a big dance floor. The food was excellent, and he had her out on the floor, in his arms, practically the entire rest of the night.
Despite the fact that he was subtly trying to ply her with liquor—drinks before, wine with dinner, then champagne the few times they made it back to their table—Ally kept her drinking under control. She was already flirting with disaster just by being seen out with him and she didn't want to be drunk at the same time. It wasn't that she didn't trust him—but she didn't quite trust him.
The last time he allowed them off the dance floor, he suggested dessert, since they'd worked off every bit of the sumptuous meal they'd eaten.
"You know me entirely too well for my own comfort, you realize."
He gave her a look that she knew he meant to be innocent, a small, slightly lopsided smile combined with the fake surprise in his eyes, but she knew there wasn't an innocent bone in his body. "Little ole' me?"
Drunk or not drunk, that set her off—the idea of him trying to portray a southern belle—complete with the accent and wispy voice that he definitely couldn't pull off—had her practically howling.
He didn't even let her see the dessert menu, which was probably just as well. She was ravenous and would probably have ordered one of everything, but what appeared was exactly what she would have ordered—it was a slice of peanut butter pie, with a buttery graham cracker crust, a thin layer of chocolate fudge on the bottom, fluffy peanut butter filling that was just right sweet atop that, then another thin layer of chocolate fudge, miles of homemade whipped cream with fudge shavings flecking it.
After the waiter had placed the enormous confection in front of her and left, he leaned over. "I remembered that, as a kid, anyway, you loved peanut butter and chocolate anything. I hope you haven't developed an allergy."
Ally had already taken her first gigantic, gleeful spoonful, and answered him with some of it still melting in her mouth, "No!"
Then she hacked off a huge spoonful and offered it to him.
Enzo wasn't a sweets person—he was the opposite of her in a lot of ways. But he opened his mouth dutifully and let her feed him, catching her hand when she would have withdrawn it and turning it palm up to lick a spot of whipped cream off the side of her hand.
Suddenly, every bit of the playfulness she had felt fled her body to be replaced by a flood of memories of their lovemaking—standing, fully exposed, in front of that mirrored window, his head between her legs moments later on his big bed, the way he'd refused to let her control her own orgasm and how hot that had made her.
Enzo—who was more attuned to her than he'd ever been of any woman in his life—saw that look, the way her face paled just a bit then blushed furiously, how she was biting her lip and avoiding his eyes, shifting in her chair as if she was suddenly sitting uncomfortably.
And he hadn't even spanked her—yet.
He stood up and threw an enormous pile of money onto the table suddenly, taking a firm hold of her arm and guiding her out of the restaurant. She barely had time to grab the collar of her coat and drag it along behind her.
"What happened?" Ally asked, wondering if she had done something wrong.
They had reached her car, and he stopped her from trying to get into the passenger's door by pulling on her arm, slamming her up against him and claiming her mouth with his before she could get a word out and making her not care one bit about that.
His arm worked its way under her coat so that he was hugging her, not its bulk, holding her tightly enough against him that there was absolutely no mistaking either of the bulges she was feeling—not the one from the gun he had holstered beneath his jacket, keeping it strapped to his left side where it would be readily available, or the even more threatening one behind the zipper of his very expensive pants.
"Need you," he ground out against her lips. "Now."
Ally felt the same way—perhaps even a bit more keenly, but neither of them were seventeen, and she had less than no interest in having to maneuver her way around a stick shift in the front or trying to cram the two of them into her practically nonexistent back seat. "My house—it's right around the corner," she suggested, kissing him back for all she was worth.
"I knew there was a reason I chose this place," came his growled response.
They were there—what had been her childhood home that they both knew just about as well—in record time. Ally was very glad they hadn't been stopped for speeding—the angels must've been on the side of lust for once.
Chapter 5
She meant to take him upstairs to her bedroom—which had been her parents', although she had completely remodeled it, especially the bathroom off it, which had stayed the same as when they had bought the place in the fifties. Neither of her parents had been fond of change of any kind.
But they didn't quite make it there. They didn't make it anywhere near there, in fact. Once Enzo passed by the door to the big family room and spied the enormous sectional couch that sat invitingly in front of her big screen TV, that was all the invitation he needed.
He tumbled them down onto it, making sure that he was the one on the bottom to take the brunt of any shock, then rolled quickly to tuck her beneath him, hitching her skirt up frantically, then stopping to stare down at her.
Ally's eyes widened. "What?"
Enzo's hands remained at her hips, touching them curiously. "What panties and bra are you wearing tonight, Allegra? Show me."
Just the question—coming from him—was more than enough to make her cheeks pinken, and she was quite happy that it was those cheeks blushing instead of the other set.
Suddenly, he sat back, the evidence of his desire rising blatantly against his zipper.
Ally was no one's idea of a strip tease artist, and she was blushing so hard she thought she was going to faint. But she stood in front of him and took off the blazer of her business suit, then reached for the buttons of her blouse, which she undid very slowly, all the while keeping her eyes locked with his. When her shirt hung open, giving him teasing peeks beneath it, she shrugged out of it and held it out to the side to drop it to the floor. Then she slid her thumbs beneath the waistband of her skirt, efficiently opening the zipper that ran down her butt crack, and shimmying out of it till she was gloriously naked—except for the highly inappropriate set of panties and bra he had sent to her.
How had he known? She wasn't sure she really wanted to discover the answer to that question.
Enzo sat there, looking at her so intently that she wanted to cover herself up again, but she kept her arms at her sides. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen her before. She didn't know why she was suddenly feeling so shy.
But he did something then that magnified her sense of embarrassment a thousand-fold. He sat forward on the couch and laid claim to her hips, pulling her to stand directly in front of him and holding her there.
"Turn around. Slowly." It was a command, there was no doubt, but his voice revealed the extent of his own involvement, deep and rough as it was.
Nothing in her life had prepared her for what he was asking her to do. She had never been the type to flaunt her body in any way, shape or form. But the look in his eye told her that he wasn't going to be any too happy if she refused him. And she already knew what happened when he wasn't happy with her.
So, she began to turn slowly and with obvious reluctance, his fingers caging her and trailing over her skin as she moved. As soon as she was facing away from him, he told her to stop.
Ally swallowed hard, but she did what he asked, the knowledge of what he was staring at making her heart pound in her chest.
"Damn, you have a beautiful butt—but I think it would look even nicer in those panties if it was a dusky shade of pink, just like your face. Bend over and put your hands on the coffee table and don't take them off until I tell you that you may."
Ally hesitated. She didn't want
to be spanked again—it effing hurt! And she hadn't even done anything wrong—this time.
Enzo had never been known for his patience. "I'm not going to wait forever for you to comply, Ally," he warned. "This can very quickly turn from a pleasurable spanking into a not so pleasurable one."
Ally snorted. Who'd ever heard of a spanking that felt good? She asked the question of him outright, doubt clear in her tone.
He stood then, more quickly than she might have given him credit for being able to move as a large man, but he was quite light on his feet. He positioned himself beside her and brought a hand up to cup the back of her neck and very gently—but inexorably—bent her over, into the position he had told her to assume.
"Hands."
When she didn't obey him immediately, his palm cracked loudly against the ample curves that were revealed by the scrap of lace she was wearing, alternating resounding swats on each cheek until her hands gripped the coffee table a few seconds later.
Before turning away from her to sit, he ordered firmly, "Stay put."
Then he returned to a position on the couch that was just to her left. "Spread your legs, Ally. I want access to you."
He could hear the way her breath caught at what he'd said, and he nearly came right then and there. Damn, she was potent! It seemed as if everything he did turned her on, and that got him hotter and harder than any other woman he'd ever had—and there had been probably more than the expected number of them in his life. He was a man with high drives of all kinds, and sex was definitely one of them, as much as he would have traded all of them in for a shot at being with her exclusively and permanently, which he'd always seen as an unattainable goal.
Transgressions Page 5