Mob Daddies: A Contemporary Romance Box Sex

by Alexa Hart

  “Oh my, it looks like you’ve made a friend,” I say as Samson snuggles up to Lily and slobbers on her pillow. “Slobber isn’t an old dog issue, but it is a bulldog issue.”

  “I don’t mind,” Lily says as she scratches his ears.

  “Lily, would you like Samson to sleep with you tonight?” I ask. “He’s already made himself quite at home.”

  “Really?” Lily’s eyes light up. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “What makes Samson happy makes me happy. Plus, he’s a very good watchdog in one very useful way. If you’re having a bad dream, he loves to lick your face until you wake up and cuddle with you until you feel safe to go back to sleep. But! What is it Spiderman said? ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ If you keep him in here, then in the morning you’ll have to help me take him for a walk to pee. And help feed him. Dogs can be a good amount of work, even old grumps like Samson.”

  “I would love to help!” Lily says. “I’m super responsible.”

  “I believe it,” I say. “Then I’ll leave Samson with you for the night. But be warned, he snores.” Samson looks at me and whimpers. “What, buddy? You know it’s true.”

  Lily giggles at Samson as I lean in to give him one last good rub on the head, and to my surprise, Lily leans up and hugs me.

  “Goodnight, Hannah,” Lily whispers in my ear. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Goodnight, Lily,” I say. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

  I stand up and turn off the light, then step quietly out of Lily’s bedroom, leaving the door ajar. I leave the hallway light on as I cross to the door nearest hers, my room. The door is open and I step inside. The room is sparse, colder than the rest of the penthouse and I wonder how long anyone has lasted here, under the difficult, cold gaze of Dax Hardin and his team of wolves. I wonder if I hadn’t seen his warmer side that night, how long I would last myself. The first thing I need to do, I decide, is get some twinkle lights.

  Someone knocks on the door causing me to jump.

  “Jeez, you scared me.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Gibbons,” Carl says. He’s standing in the doorway holding two more suitcases. “Just the rest of your things.”

  “Oh, thank you.” I hurry over to help him. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. I had hoped, like an idiot, that I might see Dax again tonight. I quickly take that hope and bury it deep down. He’s still a jerk who left with only a brief note and I don’t buy his whole ‘didn’t tell me who he was for my own good crap’. It’s not like he’s Lex Luther or anything. I should try to avoid him as much as possible and considering the size of this penthouse, that shouldn’t be hard. Yes, that’s my new plan. Avoid and deny the pesky feelings I know are starting to crop up. Carl looks up at me and gives a curt nod.

  “Everything okay?” He asks.

  “The room’s a little chilly. Is your room like this, Carl?”

  “No, Ms. Gibbons. My room has a view of the airport and my walls are painted aubergine because my wife insisted on it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My room is at my house,” he says. “You’re the only live-in staff.”

  “You mean, just me, Lily, and Dax? What about the chef?”

  “She has her own suite on the 5th floor. And Aster likes to pretend she lives here, but even she needs sleep on occasion.”

  He must think my wide eyes and obvious nerves are because of the break-in and not because of the very near, very solo proximity I just realized I’ll have to Dax. My avoid-and-deny scenario really relied on more people being around.

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Gibbons. There is always someone just outside the entrance if you feel you need assistance. Tonight, it’s Hans. Security should be in your phone contacts. It goes to whoever is on call.”

  “Hans. Security. Got it. Awesome.”

  I remember when I used to be really nervous before a performance, I found the only thing that helped was keeping busy. I immediately unzip the first suitcase and pull out a dress. I open the closet to hang it up, but stop dead in my tracks. It looks like Banana Republic had vomited inside. The whole closet is full of grey and black women’s suits. I pull one out.

  “What is this?” I ask Carl as he’s walking out of the room. “I thought you said Aster didn’t stay here.”

  “These are your clothes,” he says. “Not hers.”

  I laugh. “Um, no way are these mine.” I hold one up. To my surprise, it is my size.

  “Mr. Hardin thought you might need some clothes appropriate for the work. He ordered them on the car ride over. Since you’ll be representing him….” Carl glances down at his feet. “He has preferred attire.”

  “I see. Yeah, no business casual for Dax Hardin. Well, tell him hard pass on the Aster carbon-copy,” I laugh. I lift out all of the outfits and hand them to Carl. “I’m an adult woman and I can dress myself.”

  “Yes, Ms. Gibbons,” Carl says.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, call me Hannah!” I say. “Please?”

  “Yes, Hannah. But Mr. Hardin may have reservations. He’s particular about professional appearance ...”

  “Well, you tell Mr. Hardin that if he trusts me with his daughter, even on a pretend basis, then he should trust me to know how to cloth myself professionally. And tell him I liked him better when he was injured and less bossy!”

  Carl moves to leave. “I’ll relay the message,” he says. I can tell he is trying not to crack a smile.

  “Wait.…” I go over and lift one of the suits from the pile he’s carrying. “This one I actually like. But don’t tell him that, okay? People who get everything they want all the time are no fun, right?”

  Carl chuckles. “Right.”

  Carl leaves and I busy myself putting away the rest of my clothes. When I can’t stand to hang one more item, I force myself to sit down on the bed and take the opportunity to turn on my new phone, flipping through tomorrow’s itinerary. Breakfast at 7 a.m. Then Lily has school, French lessons after, ballet class. Jeez. When does the kid just get to be a kid? That was one thing I loved my mom for. We didn’t have much, or at least she didn’t, since my dad only funded my education, but she always made sure I had space to just be - no matter how hard my father pushed her otherwise.

  I know Dax Hardin likes his employees to follow orders and itineraries and dress in expensive business suits, but I’m not a real employee. I have a feeling that underneath the tattoos and muscles and tough upbringing and loss and pain is a warm lonely heart in desperate need of some twinkle lights. Then I remind myself that Dax Hardin is not my problem and I absolutely should not care about what he needs or how he feels … or how I feel when he’s touching me. Shit.

  I lie back in bed and throw a pillow over my head. I’m starting to think I’d be in less danger back at my apartment than I am here, living so close to a man I desperately want, but can never have.

  Chapter 11

  Dax

  I pour myself a glass of whiskey and stare out the window of my private office. So as not to disturb Lily with my work, I set up my office on the opposite side of the penthouse. Tonight, I am glad for the distance for a new reason. A seductive new problem I brought home with me named Hannah Gibbons.

  The window of my office faces the harbor, and from where I stand, I look away from the streets of my past with a needed distance and focus on the water. I own the marina and half the boats. Hell, I own half this city. And I want more. I take a sip of whiskey. I’ve sent Aster home for the night and now the file on Hannah Gibbons is open on my desk and I sit back down and stare at it for the third time. The information is there but there are questions, things that don’t add up.

  I’ve asked Carl to dig deeper, but for now, this is what I know. Hannah Gibbons. Age 24. She was raised by a single mother who worked as a high school teacher until her death from breast cancer last year. Her and her mother lived in modest apartments, but Hannah had money enough growing up. She went to a fancy school, took private dance lessons, excelled at ballet fro
m an early age… how did her mother afford all of that? No mention of a father, but clearly someone’s been acting as a benefactor. Hannah attended Juilliard and then worked as a ballerina for the Boston Ballet, mostly ensemble work but a good career trajectory. She left the company after her mother got sick and didn’t go back after her mother died. Now she’s heavily in debt and the benefactor seems to have vanished. Why?

  Hannah’s background has too many loose ends. And I don’t like loose ends.

  I also don’t like that I brought her here. When I explained it to Aster, she argued, quite fairly, that there were plenty of other less intimate methods of keeping her safe. I know she’s right, but when I’d seen the look of fear and pain on her face I couldn’t leave her. The only way I’ll know for sure that she’s safe is if she’s with me. It’s like a compulsion. The same compulsion that led me to fuck her that night and like any addict, I gave in when I was offered a fix.

  So now she’s here. In my penthouse. And worse, Lily took to her immediately. I could tell. Seeing them together stirred something in me that I haven’t felt in years. I had a feeling the warmth she radiated toward that mangy dog of hers, toward me when I was some injured stranger, hell, even those old music boxes, would probably extend to children too. Lily is easy to love, but because she’s my daughter, people tend to use her as a way to get to me, for better or worse. But Hannah is different. When I peeked in a few minutes ago, that dog was even cuddled up next to Lily like they were long-lost best friends. I can’t decide if letting Hannah into this house is the smartest or stupidest thing I’ve done in a long time. Aster would say stupid, but then Aster sometimes forgets she’s just my assistant.

  There’s a knock on the door and I am grateful for the intrusion on my thoughts.

  “Come in,” I growl.

  Carl walks in, a host of women’s pantsuits in his arms. “She said no,” he says.

  “Excuse me?”

  “She said no to the pantsuits. She’ll dress herself. She said it a little more colorfully, but you get the idea.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” I say.

  Carl nods but doesn’t make a move to leave.

  “Something else?” I ask.

  Carl clears his throat and nods toward Hannah’s file. “I just want to make sure you consider this clearly. Her background is troublesome. And it’s very convenient that she found you behind the garage the way she did.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Aster. You think it was a set-up, to get close to me?”

  “I think we have to consider the possibility. Whoever stabbed you did a good job of keeping the injuries minor. Just enough to need a rescue. And she’s in debt up to her eyeballs. She could easily be bribed.”

  “And so, what? They sent her in to seduce me?” I remember how guileless she’d been. How I’d taken the lead. I shake my head. “She doesn’t have that kind of deception in her.”

  Carl frowns. “I’m just saying, it’s not like you to be this…. trusting.”

  “Fair enough. But I’m not planning on any more entanglements. Let’s just be safe, I need you to dig deeper into her past. We need to find out who funded her all those years, why she ended up in South Boston. Talk to Joey at The Spotted Owl.”

  After Carl leaves, I frown at the pantsuits. I pick one up and head over to her room. It’s time to assert a little control over this situation.

  I can see her light is still on from the crack under the door and I knock once but don’t give her time to respond before I barge in. She’s sitting on the bed, rubbing lotion into her toned, stunning legs, wearing a very short satin nightgown in ivory. She looks up in only mild surprise and as she stands up the silky fabric slides over her hips and thighs and breasts, revealing the outline of all the curves I’ve already had the pleasure of exploring.

  “You know the point of knocking is to give the other person the right to decide if you can come in or not. But I’m guessing that’s a courtesy you rarely give.”

  “You don’t become the Bastard of Boston being polite.”

  She looks strangely sad for a moment. “That’s a lousy nickname,” she says. Then, as if catching herself, she straightens up and becomes cold. She picks up a silk bathrobe and puts it on. “Anyway, can I help you?” She’s so prim, and her posture is always whip straight, but I know that she has the ability to become pliant when warmed by my touch. The fact she doesn’t do that easily, that I have the power to get her to bend like that, makes my cock ache.

  “My itinerary says I don’t start work until 7 a.m.,” she says.

  “The uniform isn’t negotiable,” I blurt out, ignoring her pervious statement.

  She smiles. “I thought you’d be annoyed by that. I’m normally a pretty easy-going person, but honestly, I don’t wear pantsuits. They are too cold.”

  “The Spotted Owl tank top is not appropriate for my employees to wear.”

  “But you own that bar,” I shrug. “Plus, that’s not my normal attire either. Plus, I’m a fake nanny, remember, not a personal assistant or member of your security team.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, sometimes, you’re going to have to relinquish a little control and trust me. We tried that once and it worked out pretty well.”

  “If I recall, I made most of the decisions that night. So maybe you should trust me?”

  I push her against the door.

  “Is this something you do with all your employees, Mr. Hardin?” All her coldness disappears. She can’t hide that her body reacts to me.

  “No,” I grumble, “just the really insubordinate ones.”

  “Well, then,” she leans in and it takes everything I have not to crush her in my arms. “We’re going to get along fine because I’m really bad at taking orders.”

  “Don’t you know who I am?” I ask. I lower my mouth so that my lips graze hers.

  She looks at me with a sweet, thoughtful gaze that feels more dangerous than anything I’ve done to her. “No,” she says, breathless. “I’m still trying to figure out who you really are.”

  “There’s no mystery, Hannah. I get what I want and I do whatever it takes to get it.” I trace my hand down her silk nightie.

  “You’re lying,” she says. “You do what you have to do to protect the people you love. There’s a difference.”

  Something in her words wakes me up. I tear away from Hannah, who looks as rumpled and disoriented as I feel and walk away without looking back. Maybe I can’t control this situation the way I thought I could. Maybe I’m already letting Hannah get under my skin.

  Chapter 12

  Hannah

  The next morning I am up and ready by 7 a.m., dressed in a pinstriped tailored blue and white blouse and a knee-length pleated navy blue skirt with nude heels. This is my own outfit and it’s modest and tasteful, take that, Dax.

  After last night, I’m more confused than ever. I can tell myself over and over again that he doesn’t want me as anything more than a plaything, but I could see how hard it was for Dax to walk away last night. I don’t have any interest in seducing him, but I feel drawn to him and wonder if I’m the one being seduced.

  Running into Dax in the kitchen this morning, looking delicious and powerfully masculine in a grey tailored suit, really doesn’t help matters. It’s only 7 a.m. and Aster is already here, looking icy and stunning as ever.

  Dax looks me up and down with a frown, but I don’t think he’s going to fire me on the spot just for picking my own outfit.

  “Good morning, Ms. Gibbons,” is all I get from him.

  The chef begins grilling up some bacon on the stove and Lily and Samson come trotting into the kitchen together, Samson wagging his stub of a tail and drooling at the delicious smells.

  “Whoa, Ms. Gibbons, you look so pretty,” Lily says. Samson wags his tail as I kneel down and give him a morning scratch behind the ears.

  “Thank you Lily, and please, please call me Hannah,” I say.

  Lily looks over
at her dad, who continues to drink his coffee. He gives her a small nod and she smiles. “Hannah,” she says. “Cool.”

  “How did you and Samson sleep?” I ask. “Did his snoring keep you up?”

  Aster looks annoyed. “You should not be sleeping with that…. thing,” she snarls.

  “But I slept so well! Samson is a nightmare guard dog! Hannah said so.”

  “Is he?” Dax asks. He quirks a smile.

  “He is,” I nod. “Samson contains multitudes.”

  Aster slams her briefcase closed, rolling her eyes. “We should go. Your meeting starts in thirty minutes.”

  Lily gives Dax a hug and then he and Aster leave without a word to me. Dax just gives me a tight nod of what I decide to interpret as approval.

  In my continued attempt at subversion, I convince the chef to cook up a few strips of bacon for Samson, who drools excessively as he sits nearby and watches. We are supposed to take the Town Car to school, but since Samson needs a walk, I convince Carl to let us walk halfway. Carl concedes, but only if Hans and another security guard accompany us.

  So there we are, the four of us walking down Franklin street together, Lily and I sandwiched between two burly men in black suits and earpieces. I let Lily hold the leash since Samson has about as much pull as a small puppy. Lily isn’t chatty by any means, but she isn’t pensive, at least not until we reach the Town Car and drive the last few blocks to her school. As we get closer, I can see that Lily is becoming more and more anxious. Poor kid. I went to a similar school, posh, expensive and the hierarchies were brutal. Enemies of parents often turned out to become the enemies of their children, and while I don’t know much about Dax Hardin, I know the Bastard of Boston has amassed enough enemies to have one of them tear up my apartment. I can’t imagine what that means for Lily. I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I say. I notice a little girl with brown hair and freckles wave at Lily, but she’s too shy to wave back.