Dead Man's Hand (Vegas Underground 7)

Marissa

I grab Gio’s phone to make sure I’m reading the text correctly. A smile forms on my lips as I re-read. “You gave me a raise, too?” I know I’m letting him hear my excitement. It’s stupid. Three dollars an hour is nothing to Gio Tacone, and I didn’t want to give him any more leverage on me. But what the hell—he’s already decided he owns me. Might as well let him pay for it, right?

It occurs to me I should ask for more.

Especially considering how affectionate he’s being with me.

But maybe he’s like this with every woman he brings home.

A shard of jealousy pierces through me with unexpected viciousness.

“What?”

Damn, he’s observant.

I pull the sheet up to cover my breasts. I need to get myself out of here. I am so out of my depth with this man and this only ends one way—with me crushed beneath his boot.

“Are you finished with me now?”

His brows slam down. “What the fuck just happened?”

I get up and start to crawl off the bed, but he catches me by the waist and tugs me back. “Hang on just a minute. What the fuck did I do, Marissa? You mad about the money?”

I can’t meet his eyes. I just want to get out of here. I turn my face away. “No, I just—”

He catches my jaw and holds it firmly, turning my face to his. “What’d I do?”

I want to throw something mean in his face about him owning me and treating me like a whore, but I know in my heart it’s a lie, so I let the real problem slip.

“You’re a playboy, Gio. I can’t do this.” I choke on the emotion that pops up. What the hell is this? Just yesterday I was giving him hell and kneeing him in the balls. Now I’m choking up over not being his one-and-only? It’s freaking crazy.

“What?” He’s as shocked as I am. “No, no, no, no, no. You’re nuts, Marissa. You’re the first woman I’ve slept with since I got shot. And that was months ago.” He releases my jaw, his touch becoming gentle as he tips my chin up. “You’re the girl in my dreams, angel. Just wish they were nice dreams.”

He lowers his forehead to mine, his lips hovering over my mouth.

I take the initiative and kiss him. The moment I do, he launches into action, pushing me to my back on the bed, covering my body with his. His kiss is deep, relentless. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, he sucks my lower lip. He consumes me.

It’s the best kiss of my life.

A real kiss.

Better than any movie.

Better than sex, even.

Well, maybe not better than sex with Gio. That’s pretty untoppable.

When he breaks it, he stares down at me. “What do you want from me, angel? I’ll give it to you. It’s just fucking hard when you won’t ever take it.”

And then I’m crying.

Hot tears that drip from the corners of my eyes down my temples. “I’m sorry.” I loop my arms around him and pull him close, into a full body horizontal hug. He’s heavy, but the weight soothes me. “This is all scary and new to me.”

“What is?” He sounds demanding and I think he realizes it, because he repeats the words, more softly, “What is, angel?”

“Everything. You. Who you are. What you represent. The power, the money. The sex.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You lost me, baby.” He tries to push away to see my face, but I keep a stranglehold on his neck. I really can’t take the eye contact right now. “What are you talking about?”

I don’t want to say, “you’re mafia” because I think it’s something you don’t say to these guys, so I say, “You’re a Tacone.”

His weight slumps against me, like I just shot him down. “Baby, I don’t even know who I am anymore.” His voice is heavy. He sounds ancient. “Ever since I got shot, I don’t know what the point of this life is. I meant it when I said you gave me new meaning. So if you have some idea about who the fuck I am, could you please just… forget it? Can we just start from today? This minute. Just two people who like the way their bodies fit together? Who like the way they feel when they’re with the other?”

I catch my breath. Whoa. Is that how he feels about me?

He pushes back and this time I reluctantly let him see me. “Do I make you feel good, angel?”

Tingles rush over my skin. He phrased it like it’s about sex, but I can tell by his gaze that he’s asking about so much more. Does he?

He scares me. I’ve been afraid of getting involved with him. But yeah. He definitely makes me feel good. Not just my body.

Me.

I remember how strong I felt going into the hospital with him. How sexy and confident I felt cooking for him.