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I flush bright red, hurriedly tugging my nightgown back into place. Damian runs a hand through his tousled hair with a rueful chuckle.
“Looks like someone needs to go out,” he murmurs, voice still husky with unfulfilled desire. Pressing one last kiss to my lips, he stands up and grabs Biscotti’s leash.
As he heads to the back door, I sag against the counter, trying to calm my breath and racing pulse. I can still taste him, feel the echoes of his caresses burning through me.
I splash some cold water on my flushed face, wondering what the hell I’m doing. I can’t believe I allowed him to go down on me in the kitchen! On the counter! Where anyone could see!
But there’s something about Damian that bypasses all my usual defenses, rendering me helpless against the relentless pull of temptation he represents. The way he touches me, kisses me… it unlocks a deep, primal part of myself I hadn’t even known existed until him.
And if I’m being truly honest, the intense physical chemistry is only part of my growing fixation. There are glimpses of tenderness, of protectiveness, of searing vulnerability that make me ache to know him more deeply, to break through the walls he has erected.
Once Damian returns, I quickly get the cake layers out of the oven and let them cool on the counter. Frosting them can wait until tomorrow. There’s no way I can handle that right now.
An awkward pause stretches between us, rife with lingering heat and unspoken questions. Damian clears his throat. “We should, uh, probably get some sleep.”
“Right, yes. Sleep.” I hate how strangled my voice sounds.
We part ways in the hallway, sneaking sidelong glances at each other. Alone in my room, I sink onto the bed with a shuddering sigh. I can still smell him all around me, can still feel his tongue on my skin.
Arousal still thrums hotly through my veins, my body aching with unquenched craving. But it’s more than that—there’s a different kind of yearning blooming in my chest, one that terrifies me even as it draws me even deeper under Damian’s spell.
Restless shadows dance across the ceiling as I turn on my side, emotions churning.
I’m in so much trouble. And I have no idea how to free myself from this exquisite torture.
16
ALEXIS
Afew weeks later, Damian informs me that I will be accompanying him, Na, and Edo to a funeral down in Carbondale, Illinois. My eyes go wide as Nat and Edo immediately object.
“You can’t be serious, Damian! Bringing an outsider to one of our funerals is a huge breach of protocol,” Nat protests.
Edo shakes his head vigorously. “She doesn’t know how to move in our circles. One wrong look or comment could raise suspicions.” He winces as he finishes his sentence, flashing me an apologetic look. Ever since I made him his favorite cake, Edo has warmed toward me considerably.
Damian waves a dismissive hand. “It’ll be fine. Carmine was just a low-level soldier. None of the heavy hitters will be there except maybe a few capos from the DeAngelo family as a courtesy. The Brotherhood certainly won’t be there. And Uncle Vinny never attends these things, especially if they’re low-ranked soldiers.”
“That’s not the point,” Nat insists, looking ready to pull out her hair. “Even a nothing funeral is no place for civilians.”
“She’ll be in disguise as our cousin Maria, and Edo can keep her safe. It’s an easy in and out to pay respects to Carmine.”
The trio continue to argue heatedly for several more minutes. I stay silent, feeling a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. Finally, Nat and Edo seem to give in, though obviously still against the idea.
“When is the funeral?” I finally ask.
Nat and Damian whirl toward me, as if finally remembering I’m in the same room as them. “It’s tomorrow,” Damian remarks, looking at his watch. “Nat will help you find appropriate attire and give you the backstory on our cousin.”
Nat gapes at Damian. “What?”
But Damian’s already walking out of the room, cell phone to his ear as he answers a call. Edo shakes his head. “You’re on your own with this one, Nat,” he says before he also leaves, leaving Nat and me alone.
Nat takes several steadying breaths before grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the room. She drags me to her room and into her walk-in closet. I’m immediately struck by the sheer extravagance of the space. It’s unlike anything I had ever seen before, a testament to Nat’s lavish lifestyle and her status within the Mob.
“Wow,” I whisper, looking around in awe. Towering mirrors reflect every angle of the opulent display of designer clothes and accessories. Meticulously organized shelves are filled with luxurious garments that speak volumes about Nat’s impeccable taste.
“This is bigger than both bedrooms at the Carters’ house,” I finish, placing my hand on a gleaming marble countertop in the center of the closet.
But Nat doesn’t hear me—or she ignores me—as she rifles through a shelf full of black dresses. “We need something conservative but understated,” I hear her mutter before she emerges triumphantly, holding up a black knee-length dress with three-quarter-length sleeves.
