Underboss (With Me in Seattle Mafia 1)

I want to give in to my feelings for him. I want to fall in love with him.

“Of course, I have feelings for you. Maybe tender sex just isn’t my thing.”

“You’re not a great liar.”

“I’m an amazing liar,” I disagree and narrow my eyes. “But maybe I’m not lying about that.”

“You are. Tell me why you don’t want to be vulnerable with me like this. Jesus, Nadia, we’ve been honest with each other about so many things over the past few months. We’ve seen a lot and been through more. Why does this level of intimacy scare you?”

I shake my head. I don’t want to admit that I’m scared, and I hate him for putting me in this position. Why can’t we go back to it being simple?

Why do I find it so hard to do this?

“What if I get my heart set on something that isn’t possible?”

There. I said it out loud.

The look in Carmine’s brown eyes softens, and he tips his forehead against mine. “We don’t know that it’s impossible.”

“We don’t know that it’s not,” I say and hear the tremble in my voice. “Falling in love with you, really falling in love, was never part of the plan.”

“No. It wasn’t.” He kisses me gently. “I hated your guts for a long, long time, Nadia. I wanted to make you hurt. Wanted to make your whole family pay.”

I frown. “Well, that’s one way to make me feel all warm and fuzzy.”

“Smartass.” He smiles and kisses my nose. “But then I spent time with you, learned who you are. And I know that not only are you not the one I should hate, but I respect the hell out of you. You’re going to make one hell of a Bratva boss one day.”

My mouth just opens and closes in surprise. I’ve never felt more naked. Exposed. Not just physically but emotionally, as well.

He’s still inside me, and he just stripped my emotions bare.

“I want that,” I whisper.

“I know. And you deserve it. But even more than that, I’ve grown quite fond of the woman you are. One who enjoys sweets and can kick ass. Who isn’t afraid to ask for help when she needs it. A woman who spends more money than some people make in a year on a used handbag.”

“You really need to get over that.”

He laughs and finally starts to move, slowly, in and out of me.

“You’re everything,” he says. It sounds so simple but carries so much weight. And all I can do is show him how I feel because I can’t say the words.

I just can’t.

I brush my fingers through his hair and kiss his shoulder as he slowly makes love to me. And after I have the craziest climax of my life, he carries me to the bedroom.

“We aren’t done yet.”

“You may not be, pal, but I’m exhausted.”

He chuckles and kisses my cheek. “We’ll wake you up again.”

* * *

Okay, so there’s something to be said for making love.

I’ve never done it before.

I feel energized the next morning. Satisfied. And oddly…sentimental.

I’m not an overly romantic girl. Damn him for digging his way under my skin when I wasn’t looking and making me get all used to him.

“Here we are,” Carmine says as our taxi stops next to the entrance of the cemetery. He takes my hand, and we walk over to the towering iron gates.

“This place is huge,” I say as I look at a map. “We might be here awhile.”

“We have all day.”

We walk inside, up a short hill, and then all I can do is stand and gape. The cemetery is enormous. The headstones are old and different, and I can’t wait to check them all out.

“Let’s go this way and then check out the mausoleums last,” I suggest.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing with his arm. He’s dressed casually today in a black T-shirt and cargo shorts, and he makes my mouth water.

How can a man look like that in a shirt and have it be legal?

I have no idea.

I’m in a simple red sundress today because it’s summer in Paris and it’s warm. Thankfully, I also have a good-sized crossbody bag that holds my concealed carry, and I have a smaller piece tied to my thigh.

Yes, we’re on vacation, but you can never be too careful. I saw Carmine slip his handgun into a holster in the waistband of his shorts, above his impressive ass.

“It just goes on and on,” I say and point out a statue. “That headstone looks like a woman weeping, and she’s holding the hand of someone in a jail cell.”

“This whole place is a work of art,” he says.

“I hope this isn’t boring for you.”

“Not at all.” He takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles. “It’s fascinating. And I’m with you. How could I be bored?”