I packed just enough outfits for three days. No more and no less. I couldn’t tease myself by bringing anything extra.

Staying at Angelo’s meant treading dangerous, shark infested waters. Even though I knew I couldn’t go through with the arranged marriage, even if I was threatened by Moretti or anyone else, things would soon get complicated between me and Angelo.

I was falling for the guy. Hard. I wanted to tell myself it was because of my two-year dry spell, but I knew it wasn’t. It was him. Plain and simple.

Who knew what would happen once I refused to marry this Moretti guy? We didn’t know just how Angelo’s family was tied up in it all, but if it looked like he was part of my reason for refusing to go through with it, no doubt things would get bad for him.

The situation was anything but simple.

I needed simple. I needed average. Normal. I needed a guy who worked at a bank or an elementary school. A guy who rode his bike home at the end of every shift and spent each Sunday with his family on Staten Island, eating potato salad and dry turkey and watching football. The kind of guy who didn’t even know the mafia still existed.

The problem, though, is no average guy has the things Angelo does. Average guys don’t melt a girl’s panties with one look. They don’t have a touch that turns you into jelly. And not all of them stay with you all day in a hospital, doting on you nonstop. Especially not after knowing each other for such a short amount of time.

Even without the arranged marriage part getting in the way, Angelo and I probably wouldn’t have lasted. We started off so hot and heavy, I was sure the glory days would fizzle away to something lukewarm and uninteresting.

At Angelo’s building, we stepped out of the car right at the front stoop. He tossed his keys to a valet then rested his hand on my elbow and guided me towards the door being opened by a doorman. I was slightly embarrassed walking into such a nice building with a crappy old sweater on and a duffel bag hanging from one hand, but I kept my head high.

The elevator glided up the floors, taking us to the fifteenth, the top.

The ends of the short hallway were visible from the center. There was only one door, directly in front of us. Angelo found his key and let us in.

The large main room stretched out before us, as big as my entire apartment. The far wall, made of exposed brick, held four windows exposing the view of the building across the street. Paneled wood on the bottom and burnt orange paint on the top decorated the other four walls. With exposed beams and a thick, silver pipe running across the length of the ceiling, the place was something out of a magazine.

Angelo securely locked the door behind us, giving me another moment to take in the bookcases, two long, matching couches, and grand piano.

“I’ll show you your room,” he said from behind me.

I turned my face away so he wouldn’t see my disappointment. So much for his suggestion that we share a bed. What happened to the one night we slept together at his family house? Was that just a fluke?

It was probably just as well. Though I would only be staying there for a few days, I needed to keep reminding myself that it was all temporary. Sharing a bedroom together might make things harder anyway.

We walked through a doorway and into a smaller room. The doorway to the right revealed a kitchen and the one to the left a sitting room of some sort.

Right in front of us a polished wooden staircase wound up. I trailed behind Angelo, surreptitiously gleaning all the clues I could. The place was a mansion. And in the middle of the city, no less. Being in Angelo’s penthouse was like stepping back in time to New York’s Gilded Age.

Unlike his family home, the walls contained no photos. There seemed to be plenty of furniture, but the space was immaculate and elegantly put together. It didn’t have a lived-in feel at all.

The new landing took us down a wide hallway and past several closed doors.

“Here’s the best guest room,” he said, stopping at one near the end of the hall.

Decorated in off whites and creams, it contained a king size bed, a love seat, and a pretty Oriental screen decorated with flowers.

“The bathroom is there.” He pointed to the door to the left. “And there’s a walk-in closet in there as well. And this...”

He walked to the space directly across the bed and clasped two small knobs on what I previously thought was a normal dividing screen. Pulling them, the screen divided in half to reveal a flat screen TV on the wall.

“Is the TV,” he finished.

“Wow,” I breathed, genuinely impressed. “This is really nice.”

“Are you hungry?”

The question made me realize I was ravenous. “Yeah, I am.”

“I can go start some dinner. What would you like?”

I shrugged. “Oh, anything is fine.”

“I’ll see what I can whip up. I can also have something sent over, if there’s anything in particular...”

“No, really. Anything is fine. Thank you.”

“Would you like to take a shower?”

I nodded.

He returned the nod, albeit stiffly.

What changed with him? He’d been the one to insist I stay over. One moment he seemed doting, and then the next cold. Was actually having me there proving to be awkward for him?

Angelo left and I explored the bathroom. My entire bedroom could fit in the closet, and there was a shower stall, plus a deep, circular jacuzzi tub with jets.

I undressed and climbed into the shower’s hot spray, letting the water’s jets massage the knots in my neck and shoulders. When I got so hot I couldn’t handle it anymore I climbed out and got dressed. I eyed the tub and promised myself a soak the next night. Moving back down the hallway, I resisted the urge to open any of the doors and look in them. For such an empty-feeling home, there sure were a lot of doors.

I found Angelo in the dining room off from the kitchen, filling two plates with pasta and salad.

“Just in time,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I hope this is all right.

“That looks great. Thanks for cooking.”

We settled down across from each other at the massive table and began eating. Though a simple meal, it was delicious and I had to fight to not consume it like a hungry wolf. A true Italian, Angelo could make a mean marinara sauce.

“You’re a pretty decent cook,” I told him.

“I only know how to make a few things. My mother’s recipes.”

“Oh. Well this is great. Is this weird?” I asked, before I could stop myself. “Having me here?”

Angelo seemed to weight the answer for a few moments. “Maybe. But I like it.”

I nodded and went back to my food.

I got it. The thing we had going on between us, whatever you could call it, was highly unusual. He probably didn’t make it a habit of having female guests over. Not for days on end anyway.

If anything, I should be the one feeling the most awkward. I tried to turn him down.

Though I really didn’t want to.

I looked for a way to change the topic. “How long have you lived here for?”

“A few years.”

“And always alone?”

“Yes.” His fork stilled. “I admit, though, I don’t spend much time here.”

“Ah.” I could tell.

“How are you feeling? Did the shower help?”

“Yeah. It did. Thanks. That’s some, ah, awesome shower head pressure...”

He kept looking at me from across the table, his gaze falling over me and making my temperature climb. The memory of his hands on me in the car came back, along with the way my own body responded.

Feeling awkward and put off around him at all seemed crazy. This was Angelo. We’d known each other in the most intimate way.

I couldn’t wait to get back to that.

As if reading my mind, Angelo stood up and walked purposefully around the edge of the table. I stood as well, my eyes transfixed on his face and the rest of dinner forgotten about.

Angelo stopped inches away from me, his eyes rapidly flicking between the two of mine.

I lifted my chin, letting my lips part slightly. His face had become flushed, but in a way, that had nothing to do with embarrassment. His own lips opened. Down, down, his eyes went, studying my body, one hidden beneath jeans and a button-up blouse.

One hand slowly came forward to finger a button on my shirt. Angelo fiddled slightly with it, then pushed a couple of his fingers through the fabric’s opening. His touch grazed against my bra and I sighed in anticipation.

With a quick movement, Angelo grabbed the front of my blouse and tore it open. I jumped in surprise, the little ivory buttons hitting the table and wall.

Before I could say anything, Angelo mashed his mouth against mine. My body went weak, responding to the promise of all the things it craved.

To think there had been a possibility I would never have his touch on me again.

The thought was too much to bear. I pushed it from my mind and focused on the here and now. His lips against mine. His hands running down my sides.

Wrapping his palms around my hips, Angelo picked me up and set me on the edge of the table. My legs knocked into the chairs, pushing them out of the way.

Eagerly, my hands grasped at his shirt, yanking it out of the way so my palms could find the smooth skin beneath the clothing. Angelo’s own hands ran up and down my legs, then across my stomach and chest.

Kissing down my neck, he pushed the cups of my bra down. I arched my back, pressing my torso up towards his face.

Swollen lips surrounded one of my exposed nipples, then teeth lightly bit. Sucking hard on one breast, Angelo rolled the other one in his hand. I grabbed his hair with both hands and tugged slightly, pushing his face harder against my chest.

Going back to kissing, he began work on my pants, undoing them and yanking them down. The bra and panties went as well, leaving me bare and exposed on the dining room table.

Angelo’s wide palm swept up the center of my chest and pushed me slowly backwards. I gingerly lay down, the top of my head grazing a vase of flowers in the process.

Angelo spread my naked thighs and buried his face between them. Right away unrestrained moans escaped my mouth. He sucked and kissed, his attention between my legs matching the kind he gave my nipples.

I wriggled a little closer to him, my shoulder blades pressing into the hard wood of the table. Angelo reached up and tweaked both my nipples. Pleasure rippled down from them and joined the goodness between my legs.

Nearly there, I cried out in ecstasy, gripped the edge of the table…

Angelo abruptly stopped and stood up.

His arms hooked under my waist and lifted me. Through the doorway we went, and down the hall to the open door of my room.

Angelo rested me on the bed. I lay still, waiting while he undressed himself. He watched me the entire time, eyes flaring with something I couldn’t describe. Not fire. Not smoldering heat like the last time we slept together. Something else. A new intensity, one I couldn’t label.

Naked, Angelo climbed on top of me and rested his body on mine. I gave into the weight, letting my back sink deeply into the mattress. He entered me slowly, his arms wrapping around me as he did so.

Holding me close, Angelo kissed me, our bodies pulsing together. Forward and backward we rocked.

An orgasm quickly built then traveled through me, making me quake in his arms. He kissed me even harder.

On and on, we pushed against each other, the motion still soft and slow. Gradually it slowed down and finally we just lay there, the lovemaking fading delightfully rather than just abruptly ending.

Our deep kisses turned into softer and shorter ones. I turned my head to the side and looked at the closed curtains. Angelo rested his head on my chest. A siren sounded on the street below, growing louder and then fainter.

“I don’t want you to marry him.”

His proclamation shook the dimly lit room.

“I don’t want to,” I rasped from a dry throat.

He kept his head on my chest, the only thing moving being his hand lightly rubbing my arm. “I’ll do what I can to help you.”

I swallowed hard.

The words came as close to a promise as I could ask for.

Perhaps, just perhaps, having Angelo on my side meant I wasn’t doomed after all.