“You’re playing with fire,” Jules said. “That’s all I’m going to say. Not that you would listen to your best friend.” She hesitated, tapped the keyboard. “Are you gonna see him again?”
“No. Are you kidding?” Mia shivered. “I only just escaped being married off to his cousin like a prize cow. I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone in the mob. Plus, I don’t trust myself around him. I would probably rip off my panties and throw him on the nearest piece of furniture the minute he walked into the room.”
“Sure.” Jules didn’t sound convinced. “Although, if I met a dude so hot he made me want to rip off my panties, I might not care if he was a mob boss or an enemy soldier. Maybe I should stop wearing my comfy cotton briefs in case I meet a man like that. Satin and lace are easy to shred, but I’d probably lose a leg if I tried to tear off my Fruit of the Looms in a frenzy of lust.”
Mia laughed despite herself, and her tension eased. Her phone buzzed, and she checked the screen. Dante. Again. He was probably just stressed about his new role as acting boss. Dante didn’t handle change well, and with their father still in the hospital after the shooting, he had a lot on his plate. Well, she didn’t want to get involved. She tucked the phone away and left Jules to get to work.
Late-afternoon, Chris joined them after spending the day at a pen test out of town. “There’s a guy in a suit downstairs in the pool hall looking for you,” she said, dropping her report off in Mia’s office. “I told him to come up, but he says he’ll wait down there for you to finish. I’m not sure if he’s a client. He was tall, dark, and handsome, but kind of intense, and he had some interesting friends with him—a biker dude, some muscle head in a Giants’ cap, a hot hunk of blondness, and a couple of guys in black.”
“Three guesses who that might be.” Jules snorted a laugh from her desk outside Mia’s office. “Someone liked the amuse-bouche so much, he’s back for more. You want me to hold the fort while you go meet your man?”
“He’s not my man,” Mia called out. “We have a meeting in half an hour, and I have work to do. I’m not going to just drop everything and go running because he showed up.” Did he really think it was that easy? One kiss and she was at his beck and call? What about the family feud, the kidnapping, or the fact he had issued a vendetta against her father that had restricted his movements for the last ten years? What if that’s all Mia wanted? Just one kiss.
After the meeting, she sent Chris and Jules home, and called down to the bartender, a friend who was more than willing to do a little recon for her. Nico was still there, he said. Playing pool with his friends, having a few drinks, and chatting with the ladies.
Clearly, he was prepared to wait her out. Time to take control of the situation. She finished her work for the day and tidied up her office. Before locking up, she pulled out her pony tail holder, and made a quick check of her clothing—black tank top with semi-sheer lace panels on the front and back, black combat pants loosely wrapped in studded belts and chains, and lace-up black leather boots.
Badass. That should put him off if he was here for a repeat performance of what happened outside the community center. Wiseguys didn’t go for punk hackers in thick-soled boots. They went for women who looked hot, dressed well, and could increase their power and status by making other mobsters jealous.
She made her way down the stairs and stopped in the doorway to the pool hall, looking through the crowd for Nico. She spotted him right away, sitting at a table in his fancy suit, fully engaged in a conversation on his phone, his hands waving in the air as if the person on the other end could see his agitation. Mia drank in every delicious inch of his powerful presence as she walked through the bar to meet the mobster who had come to call.
*
He sensed her before he saw her. The soft thud of her boots, whispers in the air, the intoxicating scent of her perfume. Not wanting to ruin the moment, he kept his eyes averted until he finished his call. When he finally looked up, he saw an angel, dressed as the devil, to tempt him beyond original sin.
“Hello, Mr. Mob Boss.”
Hunger like he’d never known before took over him at the sound of her voice—husky and throaty in a way that made him think about pushing her to places where they would both lose their self-control.
She tapped her foot, and his gaze dropped to her boots. Cristo! She rocked her sexy punk clothes like no other woman he’d met, and more than anything he wanted to get under her skin. He wanted to know what made her tick, what music she listened to, what she liked to eat, and whether her apartment was as offbeat as her clothes. He wanted to know what it was about her that made a powerful Toscani capo with an empire to run want to spend the evening in a pool hall waiting for her to appear.