Page 61 of The New Godfather

I swallow, my voice a little unsteady. “Do I look okay?” I touch one of the rebellious curls self-consciously. “I’m afraid my hair’s a bit of a mess.”

His gaze moves over me slowly from the off-the-shoulder neckline to the upper swell of my breasts bare, down the long line of red silk that clings to my waist and hips, all the way to the floor, then back up again. When his eyes finally meet mine in the mirror, the look in them is full of awe.

“You look breathtaking,” he growls.

The sincerity in his voice, the way his jaw tightens like he’s physically holding himself back, makes me believe him. He really does think I look good.

He steps closer and reaches into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “I have something for you.”

I watch him in his reflection as he moves behind me. Both of us are facing the mirror now. His body is so close I can feel the heat radiating from him. I gasp when he places the necklace around my neck. It’s a stunning string of emeralds, and the stones are the exact green of my eyes. How did he find such an amazing match? The emeralds seem to be alive against my collarbone. It’s too much. Too beautiful. For a second I can’t breathe.

His fingers brush the back of my neck as he fastens the clasp. His skin is warm, and I feel the slight tremor in his fingers. Suddenly, his body presses lightly against my back through the thin silk. I feel his hard shaft, already thick and insistent. His arousal sends a rush of heat straight between my thighs. My nipples tighten against the dress.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear, his voice low and rough with desire. “I hate taking you out. I want to be the only man looking at you tonight.”

The words are possessive and dark, and they make my pulse spike hard.

I meet his eyes in the mirror, my own voice barely above a breathless whisper. “When we get back… you can see me wearing your necklace and absolutely nothing else.”

His gaze darkens instantly, whiskey-gold turning almost black. He turns me in his arms, one big hand sliding to the small of my back, the other cupping the back of my neck, and kisses me, ravenously, hungrily, like he’s been starving for the taste of me all day. My hands slide up the front of his tux, and my fingers curl tight into his lapels as I pull him closer. The kiss is deep and wet, and desperate, his tongue sliding against mine, claiming every inch. I can feel how hard he is pressed against my stomach through the layers of fabric, and it makes me ache, makes me press my thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the throbbing need between my legs.

I pull back just enough to breathe. My lips are tingling and my voice shaky. “It took me ten minutes to do my face and lipstick… It’s going to take another ten to redo it.”

But he doesn’t laugh. His eyes are dark, burning, forehead resting against mine, his breath coming fast and warm across my lips.

“Let’s not go then,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, edged with raw hunger. “I don’t think I can wait to see you naked in your necklace.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat rushing through me. I feel it everywhere. My breasts tighten painfully against the silk, and the ache between my legs grows sharper. For one wild, dizzying second, I actually consider it. Just staying here. Letting him peel this dress off me right now, letting him push me down onto the bed with only the emeralds around my throat while he takes me exactly the way I want him to.

But I know we can’t.

The gossipers will have a field day.

I kiss him once more, and this time, I pour everything I’m feeling into it — the want, the fear, the growing need that terrifies me as much as it thrills me. Then I rest my forehead against his chest, and breathe him in. The clean, expensive scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of his skin fills my soul. His arms tighten around me for just a moment longer, strong and possessive, like he’s fighting the same battle I am.

“We have to go. The women… they hate me. It will be another reason to gossip about us,” I whisper, even as every part of my body protests.

He exhales a long, reluctant breath, the sound rough against my hair. His arms stay around me, heavy and warm.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low and strained. “You don’t need their fucking approval, but let’s go anyway.”

I pull back and meet his eyes in the mirror again, and the look he gives me is pure, unfiltered hunger. Like he’s already imagining exactly what he’s going to do to me the second we come back through our front door. The promise in that gaze makes my knees weak and my pulse race faster.

The night is definitely going to be interesting.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

RICCI

Iknow they’ve all noticed: my men, the made men, even the low-level guys who usually keep their heads down. I’m not the same. My focus is fractured, my dedication gone with the wind. I catch the looks they exchange when I leave meetings early or tell them to handle things without me. They don’t say it out loud, but I feel it. They think it’s the smell of new pussy. They don’t know I’m the boss who’s already halfway out the door, and tonight I’m about to pull another one.

The gala.

The biggest event of the season. Politicians, donors, every single person who needs to curry favor and write checks will be there, and I’m supposed to be one of the most important guests in the room. But as I stand looking at her, I’m completely convinced I don’t give a damn about attending this event.

“Why do you care what they think?” I ask, my voice low.

She meets my eyes in the mirror, hesitating for a long moment. “I don’t. I was protecting you from gossip and speculation.”