Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

“We don’t have a race tomorrow. You don’t need to get your beauty sleep,” I said, even though I kind of wanted him to leave so I could interact with Adamo without Dima’s surveillance. Even if I didn’t owe Dima anything, flirting in front of him felt wrong.

Dima nodded in the general direction of Adamo. “I’m sure he’ll keep you company.” He turned and headed into the darkness.

I sighed but didn’t follow him. Soon a shadow fell over me. “Is that spot beside you occupied?”

I peered up into Adamo’s handsome face and shook my head. “It’s yours.”

He sank down, closer than Dima had been and our arms brushed. Goose bumps rose all over my body. “The drinks aren’t much better than the food,” I said with a nod toward the punch.

Adamo shrugged. “This isn’t a luxury cruise,” he said. “And don’t tell me vodka is such a gourmet treat.”

“Vodka wins against this sweet atrocity. And what do you know about Russian cuisine? Name one Russian dish.”

Adamo narrowed his eyes in thought. “Borscht?”

“That was a lucky guess. Have you ever had it?”

“No. Beet isn’t really my thing.”

“But mushy pasta with fake cheese sauce is?”

Adamo propped his elbows up on his thighs, his bicep flexing distractingly. My eyes strayed to his marred Camorra tattoo. The handle and tip of the dagger were still intact but the area of the blade where the watchful eye had been was disfigured by burn scars. I knew the general story of how it had come to look like this. The Outfit, an opposing Italian mob family in Chicago, had tortured him but I was curious about more details. Asking for details might prompt Adamo into asking more personal questions, though, and that wasn’t something I wanted.

He leaned a bit closer. “What Russian dish would you have me eat if we ever went on a date?”

My heart beat a bit faster. I braced myself on my thighs as well, bringing our faces even closer. “Pelmeni or Pirozhki. Nothing better than sinking your teeth into warm dough to discover a tasty, sizzling filling within.” My voice was low, seductive. Not a tone I usually used to describe food, or at any other time.

I didn’t mention my favorite khachapuri because that felt too personal.

Adamo nodded and a slow smile spread on his face. “I can’t wait to get a taste.”

My core tightened, catching me by surprise. Our eyes stayed locked together and if possible, our faces had gotten even closer. The laughter from a pit girl made me pull back. I didn’t want people to see us get cozy. “This place is too crowded. And I need a decent drink. How about you join me for a vodka at my car?”

I wasn’t sure what I was doing. This had never been part of my plan. Adamo tilted his head. “Lead the way.”

I rose to my feet, feeling an unpleasant sense of nervousness. I didn’t wait for him and stalked to my car. It was parked at the very edge of camp, cloaked by complete darkness. Dima’s car was gone. Maybe he’d parked it somewhere else out of anger, or he’d gone in search of a bar where he could drink himself into a stupor for once. He’d be looking for a long time.

I grabbed the half-full bottle of vodka from my trunk and sat down on the hood of my car. Adamo leaned beside me. After a swig from the bottle, I handed it to him. Our shoulders brushed and my body reacted with a flood of sensations, most prominent and surprising: desire. I swallowed.

Adamo held the bottle out to me. I took it and downed an even longer swig.

“Vodka is starting to grow on me. Maybe I have a thing for Russian delicacies.”

I tilted my head toward him. “They are the best.”

“I need proof.”

Adamo cupped my neck, startling me and pressed his lips to mine. My first reaction was to shove him away, even as my body screamed for more. My fingers curled around his strong shoulders for the shove but instead I dug my nails in and leaned even closer.

Adamo’s other hand gripped my hip as his tongue parted my lips, tasting me. His kiss was dominance and fire, and it set me aflame in unexpected ways.

The way our tongues teased each other and our lips perfectly molded together felt as if this was more than a chance meeting. Adamo’s hand slid up from my hip, stroking along my ribs, spreading even more fire in its wake. My nipples puckered against my T-shirt. I hadn’t bothered wearing a bra because the fabric was loose and my breasts weren’t very big.

Adamo’s fingertips stroked the underside of one breast before his thumb brushed over my nipple, discovering my piercing. Heat and wetness pooled between my legs at the spike in pleasure. I stifled a moan, trying to rein in my body’s overwhelming reaction. His thumb flicked my piercing and a gasp of pleasure burst from my lips. He seemed to control my body with only a few touches. My body yearned for more, my brain demanded control.