Driving the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

What the fuck is happening to me?

I want her.

No—I need her.

There’s no way in hell that’s Molly Davis, surely.

The last time I saw her she was a shy kid with braces who wouldn’t look me in the eye when I came to visit her father.

I try to push these impossible desires down. I shouldn’t be able to want somebody this hungrily when I’m watching them from the other end of the street, but somehow the desire surges up inside of me, hot and so real I could charge into the road and stop traffic, drag her from the car and bend her over the hood, claiming her right here.

And fuck…

I don’t just want to fuck her.

I want to put my children in her belly. I want to claim her.

Forever.

How is that possible from one glancing look across the street?

I try to tell myself I’m being ridiculous. There’s no way I could know this for certain, so soon.

And yet I do.

Molly Davis is mine.

I’d kill any man who tried to take her away from me.

Finally, the lights change and she pulls up to the sidewalk.

Chapter Three

Molly

I step from the car, silently cursing myself.

Of course, I had to get completely freaking lost on my first day on the job. Even with the GPS to guide me, the city turned into a warren of lanes and blocks and intersections, so much busier than English roads, and so much more complicated than the beautiful simplicity of a rally track.

I walk over to the back door, my heart thumping in my chest, moving through me like a song I can’t ignore.

He’s right there, just as steely as I remember him, his pale blue eyes biting into me as I open the door and wave them inside.

“I’m so sorry I was late, Mr. Moran,” I say.

He strolls over to the door. His suit is a steel color and it hugs closely onto his heaving muscles, making it look like he could snap at any second and tear the fabric to pieces. He glowers at me, his clean shaven jaw tight, as though he wants to roar at me for my tardiness.

Anger flares inside of me and I have to bite down on my angry response.

Fine, I was late, but there’s no need for him to stare at me like he wants to take my head off.

He approaches the back door, his eyes fixed on me, a cruel smirk toying at his lips.

My heart thunders at the closeness of him.

I’m sure I can feel the heat rising from his skin.

I can smell his cologne, musky and manly, or maybe that’s just his scent washing over me. The crazy thought to reach out and grab him spirals into my mind, willing me to claw onto him, to see if his muscles feel as rock solid as they look.

“Don’t let it happen again, Molly,” he growls, sliding into the backseat and shuffling along.

His man – Cillian, I vaguely remember him from when I was a kid – follows after him. I close the door behind them, careful not to mutter anything sarcastic under my breath, even as the desire surges up inside of me.

Who the hell does he think he is, talking to me like that?

Well… he’s the leader of the Irish mob and he’s also my boss.

Which is why I have to play nice.

I quickly dart into the driver’s seat and glance into the rearview mirror, finding his eyes fixated on mine, his twin blues shimmering like azure flames like he can barely contain the livid emotion flaring to life within him.

I keep my face composed – I hope – as I ask, “Where would you like to go, Mr. Moran?”

“Take me to the Moran Enterprises offices,” he grunts, his voice gruff and dismissive.

I force down another wave of rebellion, my instinct to snap at him for being so freaking rude.

“Of course,” I say instead, remember that this is Dad’s best friend and he’s done us countless favors over the years.

If it wasn’t for this grumpy, hulking, iron-haired alpha we’d be living on the streets right now. Or worse.

So what if he’s a little… okay, a lot rude? I have to remember how important this job is.

I punch Moran Enterprises into the GPS, glad when it finds the address for me and I don’t have to ask him. I can all too easily imagine how his expression would twist into a rage if I dared to interrupt his silent seething.

My only hope is that he is angrier about whatever business stuff he has to deal with today then with me.

I pull out and join the flow of traffic, silently screaming at myself to calm down when we reach one of the mega-intersections. I only had a few months of driving experience in the States before we moved to England, so this all feels new to me.