“Holy fucking shit. You’re gonna pay for that.” Seemingly unaffected by the blow, the skinhead leaped from his chair so fast it toppled behind him.
Frankie came up beside Nico to deal with the blond as Nico plowed his fist into the skinhead’s smarmy face. Fuck. It felt good to unleash the beast. He countered an incoming jab with a left hook and traded punches until he saw an opening to sweep the skinhead’s leg. Following him down to the ground, Nico let loose, oblivious to everything but the need to ensure the bastard never looked in Mia’s direction again. By the time the skinhead was groaning on the floor, his face covered in blood, Luca had paid the bouncers to clear the crowd and look the other way, and Frankie had taken care of the blond friend.
“You don’t look at my girl.” Nico kicked the man on the ground, careful not to get blood on his Italian leather shoes. “She’s not a fucking piece of meat. You don’t come back to this pool hall. You don’t come to this end of town. You do, and you’re dead. Get the fuck out.”
His heart thundered in his chest as he straightened his jacket and tie. “Follow them out,” he said quietly to Luca. “Take their phones. If the cops show up, call Charlie Nails. He knows what to do.”
Nico had a bead on the top brass in every police station in the city. He’d given the details of the corrupt cops on his payroll to Charlie Nails who could handle both the bribes and any legal problems that arose. Unless the feds were involved, no member of Nico’s crew ever spent a night in jail.
He half expected Mia to be gone when he returned to the game, but she was still there, leaning against the table, casually sipping a drink, like she was just waiting for him to come back from the bar.
“I should be disgusted by that brutal display of violence, or at the very least, terrified.” She bent over the table, took her shot, left him with a tough bank.
“Are you?” He didn’t want to know, but he did.
“Make that last shot, and I’ll tell you.” She chalked her cue, one hand twisting back and forth over the polished knob while the other slid up and down the smooth, wooden stick almost as if she were pumping …
“Mia.” He gave a soft growl of warning before easily making the bank. With adrenaline still pumping through his body, and the object of his desire close at hand, failure wasn’t an option.
“What? Feeling distracted because you’re in a sprint to the finish? Do you prefer it long and slow before you sink your balls? Or are you off your game because you just finished beating a guy to a pulp because he was checking out my ass?
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He threw his stick on the table and yanked her against him, driven by a primal need to conquer and claim. The moment their bodies touched, lust, wild and raw tore through him, and his voice, when he uttered his demand, was thick with desire. “Tell me.”
She licked her lips, slowly, sensuously, her tongue sweeping the lush pink bow until it glistened before she whispered in his ear. “I don’t know if it’s because it was you, or because you did it for me, but it was so fucking hot, all I want to do is get you alone, tear off your clothes and—”
And he couldn’t wait. Not one more second. He had to have her.
Now.
TEN
She knew she was in trouble even before he grabbed her hand.
He’d been like a caged lion when he returned from the fight, only half-focused on the game, the other half on her. If he hadn’t been so good at the game, she could have used his distraction to her advantage, but he wasn’t just good, he was amazing. Professional level. Not a straight shooter like her.
Now she owed the mobster a favor, and as he tightened his arm around her waist, she was in no doubt what that favor would be.
“Anyone in your office?” His breath was hot against her neck, making her shiver despite the heat in the room. Her stomach knotted, her arousal soaring as his free hand glided over her curves. His fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, bunching it up the back as he slid his hand beneath the cotton, exploring her bare skin with a whispered caress. Possessive. As if the rest of the evening was a forgone conclusion. Which, after he’d just beaten a man to protect her, it was.
“No.” She wanted him, had wanted him since she walked into the pool hall, and she wasn’t afraid to let him know it. Usually she kept her hook-ups discrete and short-lived to protect her dates from her father. But this wasn’t a man who needed protection. This was the man her father feared.