by Beth Ciotta
“Look who’s talking.” Bottom lip caught between teeth, he gave Murphy the once over, laughed low. “Man, this is what I call going above and beyond. I don’t even want to know where you hid your piece.”
Trying to look as nonchalant as a big-ass troll could look, Murphy angled his fat head closer to his friend. “Is that sick fuck here?”
“Yeah. He’s on the floor. Got a hot streak going or he’d be over here right now.”
Murphy squelched the urge to confront the bastard. “We need to talk.”
“Not here.”
“We’ve got a problem.”
Bogie cursed, glanced over his shoulder, and then spoke down at the floor. “All right. I’ll come to you.”
“When?”
“Tonight. I’ve gotta go, man.”
Murphy turned his head and saw Sam Marlin inching closer to Lulu and Trixie. He touched Bogie’s arm. “Wait. See that guy? The one with his hands in his pockets?” Murphy rattled a succinct description.
Bogie snorted. “What’s he whacking off over there?”
“Just do me a favor and go put the fear of God into him.”
“Done.”
The show ended and once again Murphy, or rather Tupilo, found himself in demand. He endured the sweat rolling down his face, the grabby shakes and rubs of eager patrons, certain he and the gang would be heading back to the dressing room any minute.
He smiled when he saw Bogie conversing with Marlin, smiled wider when Marlin slinked away. But then he shifted and saw Lulu heading for an olive-skinned, dark-haired man standing near a slot machine. Average height. Average weight. Early forties. Dammit.
“On it.” Bogie breezed past Murphy. “Be cool.”
Wasn’t he always? It was Lulu he was worried about. “In special instances I have been known to wig out.” Given her purposeful stride this “instance” qualified. Freaking-A.
Lulu apologized to Trixie for losing focus and almost clipping her in the nose with a misdirected club as she breezed by, a fake smile plastered on her face. That creepy sensation of being watched had distracted her, jerking her attention to a man in a suit.
The shark.
Fear and anger proved a lethal combination, robbing her of logic and launching her across the floor like a rocket. Confronting a mobster probably wasn’t a bright idea. But hey, they were in a crowded, well lit casino. What was he going to do? Shoot her? If he did he’d be arrested and put in jail—good riddance! All she could think was why the heck should she endure this insanity for another minute if she could end it now? This man had stalked her, drugged her! White noise roared in her ears as the red haze thickened.
She gripped her clubs, thinking she could use them as a weapon if absolutely necessary, and pondered the man’s startled expression as she neared. He was the right guy, wasn’t he? She ignored the other four thugs surrounding him and narrowed her eyes. “I saw you at the Ditelli party,” she said. “I also saw you night before last at Oz, right?”
He looked at his friends and back to her. He smiled. “Cute, isn’t she?’ he said to his followers.
She gritted her teeth. “You sent me a pearl thong.”
Now his friends smiled.
She wanted to bean each and every one of them, but they were five to her three clubs. Instead she wagged one purple metallic club at her dark-suited stalker. “You should be ashamed.”
He grinned again and spread his hands. “Look, Princess. I’m sorry—”
“You should be. First you sent me a highly inappropriate gift, and then you drugged me!”
Surprise registered in his eyes.
“Lower your voice,” said a portly man with a gold tooth.
“Up yours,” she retaliated. “Does your mother know what you do? How do you all sleep at night? That’s what I want to know.”
The tall, grungy-looking man nudged him. “She’s nuts, Paulie. Come on, let’s go.”
“Yeah, boss,” said another. “People are starting to stare.”
He shrugged them off, his voice low, his dark gaze intent on Lulu. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I mean you no harm.”
“Apology accepted.” She thrust back her shoulders, blew out a breath. “I knew we could settle this reasonably.” She noticed then that they weren’t looking at her, but over her shoulder.
Gold tooth laughed. “What the fuck is that?”
She whirled and bumped into Tupilo. Uh-oh. Murphy didn’t know who she was talking to, did he? How could he when she’d given him such a vague description of the man at Oz? Then she started wondering how long he’d been standing there, how much he’d overheard. What if he did know this was her stalker? What if he pulled his gun? What if Paulie and his minions pulled their guns? What if …
“Oh, my gosh. Is it time for another show? Thanks for the heads up, Tupilo.” Lulu grabbed the troll’s arm and yanked him toward the lobby. Since people were watching, she smiled and called back to the mobsters, “Have a lucky day!”
“You’ve got exactly two minutes before this head comes off, Princess.”
Murphy’s tone was low and tight, and Lulu didn’t doubt for a second that he was serious. She didn’t blame him for being testy. He’d been in that getup for three hours now, and the internal cooling system was busted. He had to be dying. She whizzed him across the lobby, through a door, and took a shortcut to the dressing room. Her co-workers were still out there mingling, but she knew if Peterson asked, they’d cover her butt.
Although she wasn’t crazy about this job, the camaraderie was priceless.
A nervous laugh bubbled in her throat as she punched in the code, opened the door, and maneuvered Murphy inside. She’d reasoned with a mobster! Yes! Score one for diplomacy! Her joy evaporated when Murphy yanked off Tupilo’s head. His expression was so fierce and dark that she stumbled backward and fell into the armchair.
He knew.
“Murphy, I—”
“Don’t speak.” He wrenched off the fat fingered gloves.
“But—”
“I mean it, Luciana. Not one word.” Red-faced and soaked with sweat, he peeled off the body suit. “Change your clothes. You’re punching out early.”
She didn’t argue. She had a valid reason. She was in deep doo.
Chapter Seventeen
Silence is golden? Ha! Try silence is torture. Murphy was evil, Lulu decided, just plain evil.
They showered in their respective dressing areas, changed their clothes, left the property, and drove thirty minutes without exchanging a solitary word. Desperate to break the excruciating tension, she’d opened her mouth twice only to be cut off with a glare that could freeze boiling water.
By the time they cleared the threshold of Murphy’s house she was ready to jump out of her skin. Talk about creepy suspense. Why didn’t he just yell and get it over with? Why was he so angry anyway? Bottom line, she’d diffused the situation. Was that it? Had she stepped on his toes? Was this some kind of macho pride thing?
He punched buttons on his home security system, turned, and leveled her with a look that punched her buttons.
Fed up, she tossed her poodle purse on the floor—mainly because there wasn’t a stick of furniture in what he referred to as the great room—and planted fists on hips. “Are you ever going to talk to me again?
“I needed to cool down.”
Yes! His voice, though strained, was music to her audibly-deprived ears. “So, now that you’re speaking does that mean you’re no longer angry?”
“It means I’ve chilled to a point where I won’t say or do something I’ll regret.”
Like almost having sex with me, she thought, her skin prickling with annoyance. It really bugged her that he regretted what she cherished. “I don’t know why you were so miffed to begin with. It’s not like anything was going to happen. Not on a packed casino floor. Not with all the security guards and cameras on site. Besides, you were there.” Albeit it in a troll suit, she bit back, as he advanced with narrowed eyes.
This was cool? He looked mad enough to chew nails and spit metal. She swallowed and took a step … two … three, back. “Of course, I do. The guy who sent me the thong.”
“Yes, but do you know who he is?’
“Paulie?”
“Falcone. Paulie Falcone.” He backed her into the library while taking off his jacket. “That name mean anything to you?”
“Not really.” Angry with herself for retreating, she dug in and balled her fists at her side as he unsnapped his holster. “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“The Falcones are one of the most notorious crime families in Jersey.” He draped his jacket over the leather high-back and placed his gun—God, that thing gave her the willies—on top of the oak credenza. “Paulie Falcone, the eldest nephew of mob boss Vincent Falcone, is second in command. He’s bad news. He plays rough, even with the ladies.”
Her stomach turned. “Oh.”
He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “Oh?”
“I didn’t know.”
“But you knew he was mafia. And still you confronted the man. Not just him but his flippin’ entourage!” He glanced at the heavens as though begging divine patience.
“I was a little pumped at the time.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He blew out a breath and met her gaze. “You scared the hell out of me, Princess. I don’t do scared.”
She thought back on his morning meltdown. Realization dawned, flooding her senses with sunshine and affection. He was bent out of shape because he cared. She smiled. She couldn’t help it. Seeing how mad he was, he must care a lot. Talk about an aphrodisiac.
He scowled. “I’m glad you think this is funny.”
She toed off her sneakers, savored his strong, clenched jaw, his earth-brown eyes sparking with passionate frustration. “I don’t think it’s funny.” Her pulse hammered as lust and longing commanded her actions. “I think you’re sweet.”
“Christ, that’s worse than nice. You are the worst judge of character I have ever … “ He blinked as she whipped her sweater over her head and tossed it on the credenza. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m hot.”
“I’ll turn down the heat.”
“That won’t help.” She was on fire for this man. This sexy, strong, honorable man. Raw hunger glittered in his eyes even as his features registered panic. Warring with his conscience again, was he? Wanting to tempt the devil in him, she unbuttoned her jeans, tugged down the zipper, and rolled the waistband down over her hips. Sofie had suggested an aggressive seduction later this evening—no man can say no to a naked and willing lady—but Lulu was in the mood now. Knowing that Murphy had feelings for her, that he was attracted to her, boosted her confidence to dizzying heights. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time.” She kicked off her pants.
“Okay.” He held out a hand, warding her off. “This is adrenaline talking. You’re jacked from that confrontation, from our confrontation, and—”
“I’m not jacked, unless that’s the same thing as, you know, horny.” She advanced in nothing but her matching silk pink undies, her smile widening when he swallowed hard. She felt naughty and powerful. Intimidating a man who’d faced down political chaos was a huge rush. “I like you, Murphy.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you well enough.” She knew he’d enlisted in the Marines to make the world a better place. He’d advanced humanitarian efforts. Then and now he protected the innocent. With her very own eyes she’d witnessed him transform into a troll to cover for one of her friends. And she’d never, not in a bazillion years, forget the way he’d lit up the lives of those children in the pediatric ward.
She knew that she wanted to connect with all that goodness and strength.
“What’s more,” she said, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the floor, “you like me.”
His gaze fastened on her bare breasts. “No, I don’t.”
She pressed up against him, palmed the bulge in his jeans. “Liar.”
He groaned when she brushed her thumb back and forth over his erection, his gaze burning with a sensual heat that made her elbows sweat. “You have no idea what you’re playing at here, Princess.”
Pulse tripping, she unfastened his jeans. “Show me.”
It was a blatant invitation, as close as she was going to get to screw me. When he gripped her wrists, halting her progress on his zipper, her insecurities flared. If he rejected her, she’d not only feel like a slut, she’d feel like a failure as a woman. Again. She almost crumbled, almost scrambled for a way to joke her way out of this potentially mega-embarrassing moment, but then she remembered a slogan she’d run across this morning when researching the Marines. Fear is not an option.
In a fierce moment of bravado she laid her cards on the table. “Here’s the deal, Murphy. I want to get kinky with you. I want to feel what I felt this morning, that bone-deep, intense rush of lust. I’ve only ever been with one man, and I … well, it was never like that.”
He banged his head back against the wall.
“I had the most amazing orgasm and—”
“You what?” He tightened his grip on her wrists, slammed her with a look that nearly knocked her on her keister. “That’s why you were trembling. You came.”
Her entire body burned with mortification. Apparently being fearless wasn’t for the faint of heart or skittish relics. “I know. It’s ridiculous. It’s not like we, well, you know had actual intercourse.”
“You’re killing me. You know that, right?”
She stared up at him, her heart in her eyes. “I know you’re trying to be a gentleman, but if you’re attracted to me at all, I wish you’d stop. I want to sample life and lust, Colin. I’m sorry if I mucked this up, but I’m not very good at being the aggressor.”
In one swift move he turned the tables and sandwiched her in between the unyielding wall and his hard body. His mouth curved into a wicked grin. “I am.”
Her brain screeched into slow motion. Her body tingled with anticipation as his fingers trailed over her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts and lower … lower. Breathe, Lulu, breathe.
His thumb skimmed below the waistband of her panties. His mouth grazed her ear. “Kinky, huh?”
“Here and now would qualify,” she choked out. Any minute her brain and tongue would totally disconnect. The heat of him, the weight and masculine scent of him drove her insane. Or maybe it was the way he was suckling her earlobe. Oh, yeah, she thought as her eyes drifted shut, that was a definite mind-warper. She waited for him to wrench off her panties, braced herself for a fast and furious coupling—that’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?
But Murphy seemed of a mind to torture her. Maybe he didn’t understand the word kinky. Firstly, she was nearly naked and he was fully clothed. When she tried to rectify the situation, he maneuvered her hands to his shoulders, distracting her with one of those blue-ribbon kisses. She clung to him as her mind spun and her knees weakened.
When he broke away she grappled for a steady breath and a sane thought. Yeah, right. He swept aside her hair, angled her head, and pressed a warm kiss to the nape of her neck followed by a velvety flick of his tongue. She held tight as time slowed to a crawl. Another kiss to the hollow of her throat, another scandalous lick. He nabbed her hand and, sweet misery, kissed and nibbled his way from the inside of her wrist to the bend of her elbow. Her heart rate accelerated and she realized he was attacking her pulse points. How many were there? She couldn’t remember. He’d disabled her memory two licks ago.
“Lemons,” he rasped. “You’ve been torturing me with your signature scent since day one.” He teased her with an ornery glance, his thumb caressing the soft flesh of her wrist. “Where else do you apply that fragrance, baby?”
Her voice stuck in her throat as she obsessed on the day one part. He’d been attracted to her since the momen
t they’d met?
He kissed and tongued her cleavage, palmed a breast and ignited internal fireworks. She bit her lower lip, suppressed a throaty, “Yes!” Waves of want and wicked lust rolled over her as he squeezed her hardened buds, nipped the undersides of her breasts, her ribs, her tummy. His tongue flicked over her belly button, not a pulse point she thought hazily, but who cares—and then, oh, God, her panties were off and he was on his knees with his head in her crotch.
She moaned and squirmed as he sucked, nibbled, and licked her precious parts with mind-boggling skill and creativity. One strong hand kept her from sliding down the wall, while the other explored and teased her wet folds and crevices.
Okay, he definitely knew kinky.
It was her last coherent thought before her brain and body exploded in an earth-shaking climax.
Satisfaction and wonder coursed through Murphy as Lulu screamed her release. Man, she was quick on the trigger. He could’ve feasted for another hour, she’d barely lasted two-minutes. He felt her go limp, hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her to his bedroom. He was hard and aching, and out of his freaking mind with need.
He needed to possess Luciana Ross—body and soul.
Keeping in mind that she wanted bone-deep lust and kinky, God help him, he tossed her in the center of his bed and ordered her to stay put. He pinned her with a hungry gaze, devouring her lush, creamy curves as he shucked his clothes.
Though her lips curved into a timid smile as she blatantly admired his arousal, her tone rang with disappointment. “Why did we have to come in here?”
He opened his nightstand drawer, flashed the condom packet before tearing it open.
Something flickered in her eyes. Remorse? Regret? “You don’t have to worry about getting me pregnant.”
Okay. So she was on the pill. Did she think he’d think less of her because she took precautions? Murphy felt the moment slipping away. What the hell? He covered himself with the rubber and rolled onto the bed pulling her under him. “There are other reasons to practice safe sex, hon.” He nuzzled her neck, suckled her earlobe, and worked his hands over her freaking amazing body trying to heat things back to boiling.