Page 203 of Don’t Say Mafia

“Hi.” The single syllable slid from his mouth with a seductiveness that should have been illegal.

I startled, a soft, humiliating gasp slipping out before I could stop it. The blond man was there suddenly, like he’d stepped out of the air itself, blocking my path with an ease that suggested he was very used to people adjusting around him.

He was standing too close, actually. Close enough that I could smell his delicious scent, and my panties immediately threatened to combust because of how good it was. He smiled, clearly knowing exactly what he was doing to me.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding apologetic at all. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” I murmured, and I was annoyed at how breathy my voice sounded.

His eyes dipped briefly to the tray, then lifted back to my face, that strange brown-and-silver gaze intent in a way that made my skin feel tight. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” I said immediately. “I’m fine. It’s just another day.”

He didn’t move away, and the silence stretched. Uncomfortable. Intimate. Charged.

I shifted my weight, tightening my grip on the tray. “What . . . what are you staring at?” I asked, trying for steady and landing somewhere near defensive.

His mouth curved in delight, as though I’d just given him exactly what he’d been hoping for. “I’m trying to decide,” he said, “whether you look at every man like he’s a bad decision . . . or if I’m just getting special treatment.”

Heat rushed straight to my face. “Excuse me?”

“Have you decided if I’m worth the trouble yet?” he continued as if I weren’t currently melting into the floor. “Because I’m hoping I am.”

I swallowed. This was dangerous territory, but I knew the rules. I’d lived by them for years.

“I’m married,” I said automatically. The words came out like they always did. But for the first time in my life, I felt a jarring, unexpected pang of disappointment as soon as I said them. And that was followed by guilt . . .

His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. But instead of easing, the interest in his eyes deepened, settling in as though it planned to stay. “Lucky man,” he murmured, and I struggled to not squirm under his gaze. I’d never had someone look at me like that, like they were memorizing the way I breathed.

I huffed out a quiet, nervous laugh. “You should probably move.”

“Probably,” he agreed . . . but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in just enough that only I could hear him. His voice dropped, becoming more of a caress than anything else. “Marriages aren’t always . . . permanent arrangements, though. Don’t you think? Sometimes people outgrow them. Sometimes husbands are misplaced. Especially when someone’s unhappy.”

My breath caught. “I didn’t say I was unhappy.”

He smiled, his eyes flicking to my mouth and back up again. “I didn’t say you were,” he murmured. “I’m just very pro-discussion. Open communication. Exploring possibilities.” He stepped back then, finally giving me space, his hands lifting in a gesture that might have looked innocent if it had come from anyone else.

“I guess I’ve distracted you from your job long enough,” he rasped, reaching down and adjusting the enormous bulge in his pants. He was smiling when I yanked my eyes back up, mortified, because he’d obviously just watched me check out his package.

What was wrong with me right now?

I stood there for a moment, every nerve in my body awake, and then I finally forced my feet to move. As I walked past him and back toward the high roller room, one thought echoed loud and unwanted in my head.

No one had ever made me wish I’d kept my mouth shut before.

And that was a problem.

CHAPTER 4

JAGGER

Carl intercepted me just before I reached the doors.

He looked the way men did when they were close to an ulcer. It was a miracle he hadn’t dropped dead yet with how much the man stressed. He didn’t even have to shoot anyone; what was he stressed about?

“Mr. Thatcher,” he said quietly, positioning himself in front of me like a speed bump. “Do you need me to close the room?”

I glanced past him at the velvet rope, the muted clatter of chips and low voices bleeding through, and I smiled as I slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Why would you need to do that, Carl? We don’t want to make it weird, do we? Just keep the drinks coming and tell your staff to relax.”