“Confident. I like that.”
She retrieves her skirt and pulls it on.
Because I can’t resist getting close to her again, I step up behind her, bat her hands away and zip it up.
I can’t fucking wait to taste the food she cooks me.
Finally, a reason to live.
Marissa
Goosebumps rise on my arms.
I’ve never had a guy dress me before. There’s something so intimate to Gio closing the zipper of my skirt—more intimate, even, than the strip search. Than standing in front of him with my skirt off.
It’s like something a married guy does with his wife. In the movies, though. Only in the movies. I don’t know; I only have my grandparents as examples, but I feel like married couples become way too practical for dressing each other.
I’m giddy now. All my fears and anxieties morphed into something exciting. The relief of paying for Mia’s surgery, mingles with the anticipation of showing off my cooking skills, all woven together with a heavy layer of sexual tension.
“Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.” Gio’s still right behind me, his deep, gruff voice doing crazy things to my core.
I turn, surprised. “You will?”
He arches a cocky brow. The frightening mafioso is gone now and charming Gio is back. “You think I’m going to let you toddle out in those heels? You barely made it here.”
My face grows warm. “You noticed that, huh?”
Gio’s eyes crinkle up and he holds out a hand. His lanky form is relaxed; he oozes confidence and ease. “Which hospital?”
I hesitate for a moment before putting my hand in his. This is it.
I’m joining with the devil.
My small palm slides over his larger one and he closes his fingers.
I clear my throat. “St. Francis, but I have to stop at the bank to get a cashier’s check.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
“Thanks for the ride,” I murmur when we pull into the hospital lot. The crisp cashier’s check is in my hand, but Gio doesn’t let me out in front; he parks and gets out.
I thought the ride was exceptionally generous, especially considering the way things went down between us. But now I wonder what his game is.
“Are you making sure I didn’t lie about what I need the money for?”
One corner of his lips quirk in that knowing smile. “You didn’t lie.” He walks around his beautiful Mercedes G-wagon to my side and settles a hand on my lower back.
“You don’t need to come in,” I tell him. I still can’t figure it out, which makes me uneasy.
“I’m coming in.”
This is the part that worries me. A Tacone does what he wants. There’s no asking. No negotiations. And I just opened the door and let him firmly back into our lives.
I stop mulishly. “Why, Gio?”
“Because I want to, doll. Stop being so ungracious.” The words roll out easily, but I get the sense I offended him again.
But that doesn’t make sense.
I start walking again, sneaking glances at him as we go.
“What?” he demands when we get in an elevator up to the finance floor.
I shake my head quickly.
He exhales, like he’s conceding something. “I’m here to watch your back, Marissa. You carry a lot of weight for your family. Least I can do is drive your ass to the hospital and go in with you to make sure it gets done right.”
I blink back the heat that sears my eyeballs. Just having someone acknowledge the weight on my shoulders comes as a relief, but to also hear that Gio Tacone actually does care about me and my family—as he’s been professing—comes as a shock. Guilt for all my mistrust, for my attempted blackmail and all my bitchiness floods through me. I check to see if my mouth is hanging open.
“I know, shocker.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans a shoulder against the elevator wall. “And you thought I was incapable of doing anything nice.”
“I didn’t—” but I stop the protest, because he’s right.
The elevator stops and we get out. I square my shoulders and stride toward the business office. I’m glad I wore the skirt and heels now, because they lend me confidence. I feel strangely strong and sexy. Is it because I have Gio at my back? Or because that’s how he sees me, and I sense his appreciation? I shoot him a sidelong glance and he returns it, one corner of his mouth turning up like he’s sex on a stick.
Funny, how I do want to reward him with sex now. I guess that’s the difference. I didn’t want it to be something he took from me. Or demanded. Now he’s earned it.
Oh, lordy. Why am I even thinking about sex with Gio? Not happening. Bad idea. He’s a player and a mobster. Not that man I want to tango with.
We get to the business office and I slide the check across the desk. “I’m here to pay for Mia Milano’s surgery.” I lift my chin. One word and she’s going to get an earful about what I think about this hospital and their blackmailing techniques.