Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
My head tilted, leaning into the barely-there touch.
His gaze slipped.
His fingers grazed.
His hand closed around the back of my neck.
Then when his gaze met mine again, the touch tightened.
I leaned.
He closed the distance.
Then his lips were on mine.
It was careful at first. Almost as if he expected me to pull away.
But when I moaned and moved closer, his head tilted, and the kiss went from soft to searing.
I reached outward, hands sliding up his chest.
His hands moved, slipping around my waist, then gently pulling.
He didn’t need to force the movement, though. I happily went up on my knees and moved over until I was straddling him.
His fingers flexed on my hips.
I sank down.
A deep moan escaped me at the hard line of his desire against my own need.
My hips rocked.
Milo’s groan vibrated against my lips. When mine broke away to moan, his mouth chased mine, like he was already addicted, like he needed another hit.
I rolled my hips again and when my lips parted on a whimper, his tongue slipped inside to sweep over mine—slow at first, then harder, hungrier.
Milo’s hands tightened on my hips, guiding my movements, driving me up.
The desire tightened, coiled, threatened to snap.
My lips ripped from his, my breath panting out of me.
“Tell me your name,” I demanded. “Please.”
“Milo,” he said, brows pinching.
“No. Your whole name,” I whimpered, the sound catching on a moan as his hardness pressed just right, as the pleasure screwed tighter, then splintered apart.
Milo’s arms went up from my hips, wrapping around me, holding me tight as I collapsed against him, breathing into his neck.
“Grassi. Milo Grassi,” he whispered in my ear.
I sank into him, into the trust he’d given me along with his name.
But before I could even feel my heartbeat go back to normal, the sound of voices started to drift down the hall, coming closer, pausing.
I flew off of Milo’s lap, hitting the couch hard, making my back crack against the arm.
Milo rushed to his feet, gathering the dresses and focusing on putting them all back into the garment bag while I tossed the lock and flashlight into the spa bag.
“I’ll leave all this at the front desk for you,” Milo said, grabbing the spa bag from my lap as the trio of women descended on the coffee station.
“I can carry them…”
“I didn’t get use of the lounge without paying for a spa package. Enjoy some relaxation, Roe. You deserve it.”
With that, he was gone.
I just sat there for a moment, staring at the gray wall in front of me as the women chatted as they moved to one of the seating areas.
That was all just… a lot.
The kiss, the grinding, the orgasm, his name, the interruption, and, yeah, the spa package.
My mind kept trying to grab one of the subjects only to have it slip between my fingers.
“Miss Langston?” a voice called, making me jolt.
I turned over my shoulder to find someone in lavender scrubs waiting for me. “I have your massage ready.”
Okay.
Well then.
I guess I was getting a massage.
Lord knew my overwhelmed body could certainly use some relaxation.
And maybe while it got that, I could sort through all the thoughts in my head.
But two hours later, I was no less mixed up than before the pampering.
I grabbed my things from the front desk, then made my way out front.
To find a ride-share waiting for me.
A girl could really get used to this princess treatment.
But I had to ground myself and remember that all of this pampering was because Milo wanted something from me. And that it had an expiration date.
One thing I did know, though, was that I now had his real name.
Milo Grassi.
It was time to figure out who I was working with.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Roe
Milo Grassi didn’t bring up much.
He didn’t even have any social media accounts.
That said, the last name Grassi sure had a lot of interesting information to wade through. Some of it dated all the way back to the seventies. And a lot of those articles were linked to crime.
Because the Grassis weren’t just a family.
They were a mafia organization.
Sure, you could make an argument (and my mind tried) that just because someone was related to the mob didn’t mean they were also involved.
But, well, each time I tried to tell myself that he wasn’t in the mafia, a memory surfaced. Things that made a lot more sense with that context. Keeping his identity secret. Having so much cash on hand all the time. Burner phones. Knowledge of cameras.
There was so much about him that I tried to shove into a rich businessman slot, but he never quite fit.
A calm, confident, experienced mafia capo, though?
Yeah, he fit in there perfectly.
So, I was officially involved with an organized crime family.
Yeah, I’d been doing something… kind of illegal before. But now? Now it was fully criminal.
I really, really needed not to get caught.