The Woman at the Docks (Grassi Framily)

"Okay?" he asked, reaching out to snag my chin, forcing my gaze up, wanting me to look him in the eye while I agreed.

"Okay," I affirmed.

"Good. But if you stab me in my sleep, sweetheart, I am going to be so fucking pissed," he added, giving me a devilish smirk.

"If I stabbed you in your sleep, you'd be dead, so you wouldn't be able to be pissed."

"Down in hell, I'd be pissed down in hell," he told me, giving me a smile as his hand went to my lower back, guiding me over toward his car.

His palm wasn't even touching my bare skin, but I swear it burned, ignited, tiny tendrils of need shooting off from the contact, slipping around and down until I needed to press my thighs together as I sat in his car to try to stem the chaos of desire building there.

"Do you live far from here?" I found myself asking, not to fill the silence, but because I genuinely wanted to know more about him, because I found myself a little obsessed with that slow, deep, smooth sound of his voice.

"Not far, no. Over this bridge," he told me, pointing it out.

"On the water, or just in one of the neighborhoods there?"

"On the water," he told me, and my eyes moved over toward those properties.

Mansions.

That was what they all were.

One mansion after another on the Navesink River.

I didn't even want to consider how much a house like that would set someone back. Or exactly what kind of criminal activity could afford it.

We drove down to the end of a long street, coming to another bridge, seeming to lead back where we'd come from, but Luca pulled off right before it into a gleaming, seemingly brand new luxury apartment building.

White stucco and floor-to-ceiling windows made up the exterior, showing me five stories, some with balconies, others without.

"Wow."

It escaped me before I could think to hold it in.

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"Perk to having it in the family is I get to live here too," he told me, climbing out.

I knew better than to reach for my own door, knowing he was coming for it, having the feeling he would be insulted if I didn't let him do it for me.

The lobby was wide and somewhat sparse, made up of whites and grays with a small seating area in front of a gas fireplace, a desk with employees to the left, and two sets of elevators to the right.

Luca's hand went to my lower back once again, steering me away from the counter, taking me to the elevators, then slipping a key into the second one.

I can't say I'd ever lived in a luxury apartment building, but I understood enough to know that when someone had a key to the elevator, they also had the key to the entire top floor.

Luca lived in the penthouse.

Overlooking the Navesink Bank.

Maybe it wasn't one of those five-million-dollar mansions, but I imagined it was still a million-dollar home.

I found that intimidating at best as we rode up the quiet elevator, as I watched it slide open into his apartment.

The entire space was open, bright. The floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the morning sun.

The walls were white, the carpet in the living space near the covered balcony was cream and gray, the couches cream as well, facing a massive TV against the opposite wall.