didn’t go on dates: I met a woman, fucked her once or
twice and moved on. I didn’t have time for fucking
romance.
But Irina? I had time for her.
I still couldn’t get my head around her being Russian.
She had zero in common with the Russian thugs I
battled every day—it was difficult to accept they were
from the same country. Although I‘d be lying if I said
there wasn’t a little part of me that loved the thought of
seducing one of their countrywomen. Da, comrade, see
how you like that.
“So who is she?” asked Rico. “Hot?” He was grinning,
now, practically bouncing in his seat in excitement.
Which was kind of funny because Rico’s as big as I am,
solid muscle, and the car was creaking on its springs.
“Of course she’s hot,” I told him. “What the fuck do you
think?” Again, I couldn’t help grinning. Which was crazy:
I didn’t want people—even Rico—thinking their boss was
turning soft. But something about her made me feel...I
don’t know, lighter.
Lighter....and hotter than I’d ever been for any woman.
I really hoped she showed up because, if she didn’t, I
was going to have to track her down all over again. I
wasn’t giving up on her any more than I’d give up on
my dad’s territory.
6
Irina
I walked slowly up to the cafe, heels crunching in the
snow. Warm light spilled out through the big plate glass
windows, making the sidewalk gleam gold. I stayed
back in the shadows. I wanted to see if he was there
before I—
There. I caught my breath as I saw him. God, the man
had presence. He sat right in the middle of the cafe,
completely unfazed at sitting alone. He didn’t read the
menu or tap at his phone in an attempt to look busy. He
just gazed around, utterly relaxed.
He hadn’t ordered anything yet. He’s waiting for me. I
felt my heart start to race.
Every eye in the place was drawn to him, especially the
women. I could see women on dates surreptitiously
glancing at him over their dates’ shoulders and two
waitresses giggling and blushing in the corner as they
sneaked looks at him. I hated them immediately. He’s
mine! And then flushed because that was nuts: I’d
barely met him. He wasn’t mine.
Then he turned and saw me through the glass. Our eyes
locked.
And I realized I was his.
It was freezing, out on the street, but I lit up from
within with a violent heat that made me audibly gasp. It
was as if I was an ice sculpture and someone had
poured lava into the center of me, making me glow red,
yellow and white even as it melted me completely. The
warmth radiated out, hit my skin and made me flush,
then contracted back in and twisted down to my groin.
I was his. His gaze felt like it was going to pull me right
through the window. Like no one else in the world
mattered or even existed. Like he’d fight through a
thousand men to get to me.
And he wanted me right now. He wanted me on the
table in front of him, my ass thumping down on the
table as he hauled my dress up my thighs, my legs
kicking either side of him as he tore off my panties and
rammed himself inside me.
I didn’t think I looked special. I’d had to get ready in a
hurry, quickly adding a touch more make-up and
scrambling into the little black dress. I’d left my hair
loose, hanging straight down my back. And most of me
was covered by the thick black coat that reached down
to my thighs. But I’d never seen desire as strong as I
saw in his eyes. I. Was. His.
This is nuts! He’s an American! I should walk away….
But I knew I was kidding myself. The lust in Angelo’s
eyes was so strong it was almost frightening...but it was
nothing compared to the deep, hot ache that was my
body’s response. I took a deep breath and stepped
inside.
He got up out of his seat. I caught my breath as I
neared him and he reached for me. I wasn’t sure what
he was going to do: embrace me, kiss my cheek...a full-
on kiss on the lips?
His hands landed on my upper arms and he traced
down them to my hands as he drew me closer. I could
feel the heat of him throbbing into me—I hadn’t realized
how cold I’d gotten, standing outside on the street.
“You’re freezing again,” he told me. His big hands
closed around my smaller ones, engulfing them, and the
warmth crept up my arms, soaking into my chest.
I swallowed and the room seemed to tilt and spin. I
could feel the layers of ice fracturing and splitting,
devastated by his heat. He drew me even closer, our
bodies less than an inch apart. I had to tilt my head
back to look at him and, as soon as I looked up into
those brown eyes, I was lost. God, he was gorgeous. I
wanted to brush my fingers through that gleaming black
hair, slide my palms over his curving pecs. With his
overcoat off, his suit jacket could open a little more and
I had a better view of those mysterious tattoos beneath
his shirt. I couldn’t make out any detail but they were
big, covering the whole top part of his chest.
He squeezed my hands, his thumbs slowly caressing my
knuckles as if to show me what he wanted to do with
every inch of my body, later on.
“I’m very glad you came,” he said at last. That rich purr
of a voice resonated through my body but there was a
stress behind it, too, and he squeezed my hands just a
little on the very and the glad while staring deep into my
eyes. Those words don’t describe it, his eyes said.
They’re just the best I can do.
When he finally released me, it was with great
reluctance. I could feel the tension in his body—as if he
was barely managing to restrain himself from just
grabbing me and kissing the hell out of me.
I stripped off my coat and sat down. He pulled my chair
back for me. That was a first, too. Did all Italian-
American men go to manners school? As he helped me
slide my chair under the table I could feel the strength
in him, the way he made me and the chair just float. He
put his hands on my shoulders for a second, thumbs
brushing the back of my neck, and everything seemed
to stop. I could feel the pent-up tension in him again, all
the more palpable because I couldn’t see him. He was
hovering on the very brink of control. He wanted to
throw me forward so I was bent over the table, pull up
my dress and—
I heard him take a long, slow breath and then his hands
lifted and he came around the table. When he sat, his
eyes were blazing, almost angry with lust, as if he
cursed me for having this effect on him. But I’m not
doing anything!
I had to look at the menu just to break the tension. As
soon as we were ready to order, he summoned a
waitress. Not called. Summoned. He only had to lift his
head an inch and glance in her direction and she
scurried over, ignoring everyone else. She’d either been
eying him up since he walked in or it was just
something about him that commanded attention—
maybe both. She was my age, pretty with long, dark
hair and a white fitted blouse that showed off a lot of
cleavage. I braced myself for his inevitable flirting.
But he barely glanced at her as we ordered, his eyes
fixed on me. And when she did a flirty little giggle and
asked if there’d be anything else, he just dismissed her,
politely but with great finality, and leaned in to me as if