Eva

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My breathing is harsh from surrendering to Carmine. I ache for him – probably courtesy of my spiked drink – and almost gave in and begged him to touch me, but fortunately, he allowed me to come right before I caved.

And when a dark grin flashes across his face, it shakes me to my core like nothing else ever has. Particularly due to the fact that his devious stare makes me think he’s considering devouring me, which causes an exciting yet petrifying tremor to run through my limbs.

Usually, I don’t come with a client, but he makes me yearn for his touch. I’ve never been with a man like him; a man with shoulders twice as broad as mine that taper to slim hips and long, muscular legs that lead up to a hard and impressive arousal. He also seems utterly comfortable with his nudity, and the sleek tattoo right beneath his elbow – which is a small line of letters or maybe a name – makes him look even hotter.

As I roll onto my side, he casually topples back onto the bed, apparently done with me, and I feel a twinge of sorrow. Then I see his slacks on the floor and notice his phone peeking out of the pocket.

To steal or not to steal his phone?

I furtively push my panties off the edge of the mattress and lean down while deliberating what to do, but the last hour with Carmine is screwing with my emotions; my instinct screams at me not to trust Roman at all.

Taking the item off the floor, I sit up and hear him stating, “Where do you think you’re going?”

We both surge up from the bed, but when he crowds me and grabs my upper arm, his grip isn’t nearly as strong as it normally is, so I sense he’s still woozy too.

“To my own room?” I reply, posing it as a question as his thick brown hair topples over his forehead in a perfect tousled mess.

I keep my hand hidden behind my back, but Carmine, who isn’t easily fooled, swivels me around and snatches the item from my grasp.

“What did you take, little thief?!”

I tilt my head sideways. “My panties, ass.”

As he holds up the torn lacy material, letting it dangle from his thumb, he gives me a grin that makes his whiskey-colored eyes twinkle with mischief, and it causes the strangest stirring in my belly.

“In that case, I do apologize, Eva, for ruining your sexy underwear. But I think you can throw these away.”

I try to take them back, but he stretches his arm up so that I can’t reach them, insisting with his lips against my cheek, “Throw them away. I’ll buy you new panties.”

He’s utterly charismatic when he’s drunk. Damn him. But no man has ever given me a gift, so I don’t believe him. I figure that I’ll most likely have to sew them up myself. This guy doesn’t realize that his suit is worth more than my entire wardrobe.

“No, thank you. I just want them back.”

He frowns yet forks them over. “Your choice.”

Then I turn around to make a beeline around the bed, but he demands again, “Where are you going?”

I wave to the present he left on my stomach and ask sweetly, “May I clean up in your bathroom?”

He holds out his arm. “You may.” Bending low, he picks up his clothes, steps into his black boxer briefs, drapes his suit, dress shirt, and tie deftly over the corner of the bed, and places his gun on the nightstand.

So his phone remains in his pocket – I could still snatch it.

I enter the bathroom where washcloths are piled up beside the sink, and as I’m wetting one under the faucet, I startle when I glance up into the mirror to find Carmine watching me from the doorway. Hurriedly, I wipe myself off and wash my hands as his gaze eases down to my ass while he simply stands there, waiting. I toss the cloth in the sink, but as I’m heading out, he walks in, takes the cloth I just used, wrings it out, and hangs it over the edge of the sink to dry.

Anal much?

Returning to the bed, I get my torn dress, and as I’m thinking about what to wear, Carmine commands, “Go put something on.”

Since that’s what I was going to do, I scowl at him, tired of having to walk on eggshells around him because he inspects my every move. Of course, he trails me to my room as I fish a simple white nightgown out of my bag on the floor and throw it on.

Carmine turns toward the door and gestures for me to follow him, so I make my way back and ask, “We’re sleeping together in your bed?”

“I need to keep an eye on you, so unfortunately, yes,” he retorts, getting a pack of smokes from his jacket at the foot of the bed. After opening the pack, he takes out a cigarette and a lighter and flicks it open with his thumb.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke in here.”

Bringing the lighter to the end of his cigarette, he inhales deeply. “I don’t care,” he comments, the cigarette hanging off his lip as he visibly calms.

At that moment, my growling stomach cuts through the silence, and I mumble, “Oh, I’m hungry.”

“Didn’t you eat?” he almost barks, his mouth tightening.

“No.” I’m used to going to sleep hungry though.

“The nightstand is a mini fridge.” He points his smoke toward it.

I walk past him and go down on my haunches to open the door, seeing cans of Coke and a bag of nuts, which I grab. The blue bag has a picture of green colored peanuts in a white bowl.

“What are wasabi peanuts?” I blurt out.

“Wasabi is the sauce you eat with sushi.”

“Oh...I’ve never had sushi,” I mutter, tearing open the packet and shaking out a handful of the green nuts. Eating out means McDonalds or pizza for me, but I mostly have cereal for dinner to save as much money as possible to pay for Brandon’s care. “Looks like chemical pistachios.”

“You’ve never had sushi?” Carmine questions with a puckered brow just as I bring my hand to my lips and he adds, “I wouldn’t eat that many.”

But I toss them into my mouth, chewing until my tongue is on fire and the spiciness burns my throat. “What the hell?” I swallow them down quickly and pull out a can of Coke, popping the top and guzzling it down.

Around a playful smirk, Carmine says, “You should’ve listened to my advice.”

Waving my hand in front of my mouth, I concede, “Maybe this one time I should have. It’s freakin’ spicy.” A few drop onto the floor, and I can hear him sighing at my untidiness.

Somehow, my faux pas has cut through the impenetrable tension, and simply because I want to learn more about this man, I remark, “I’ll clean them up since you’re clearly a neat freak.”

“Yes, I like things neat – except when I fuck,” he comes back at me in a low tone. “Don’t presume to know me. You don’t.”

“I know you only want me because you can’t have me,” I disclose what Roman suspects.

His hand freezes mid-air for a split-second before he acts as if I didn’t strike home.

I carry on, “You want to fuck me and forget me, another conquest for you. See, you’re just a man, and I know men.”

“You mean, you hate men,” he counters, and suddenly, it’s my turn to freeze.

“I don’t hate you. I dislike you a great deal though.” Standing up, I sit on the bed.

“That’s the same thing,” he points out arrogantly and tries to steer the conversation back to me. “You have a disliking, as you say, for men, which probably stems from some kind of daddy issues. You’re an escort for some other reason than purely to earn money for yourself, and somehow, you’re able to force yourself to do what you need to survive...”

He just summed me up perfectly – how?

“I know you have something to hide. I’m Consigliere and trained to notice these things, and while you lie very well, I can see right through you.” He takes another slow drag as he looks at me, the smoke billowing up from his nostrils.

Consigliere? Did he just unintentionally betray his position in the mafia? If he’s the Syndicate’s counselor, then he must be one of the higher-ups.

Uncomfortable with how well he’s able to assess me, I focus on him again. “You see through me or you want me? Why do you even want me, Carmine? Because you can’t have me?”

He lifts a brow. “I could have had you if I’d wanted to.”

“Are you sure?” I taunt, and he shows me a devious smile, muttering, “Oh, I am.”

Then he takes one last drag of his cigarette as he walks to slide open the glass door and flicks it out onto the patio as the silence hangs heavy in the air.

When he closes it again and turns around, he evaluates me calmly. “How old are you?’

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” he replies instantly, appearing comfortable in his boxers while I struggle not to ogle the hard lines of his chest.

“Twenty,” I answer right after he does.

“Do your parents know what you do for a living?”

“Do yours?”

“No,” he responds again, astonishing me.

I start to fiddle with the hem of my nightgown since no one has ever asked about my personal life. It’s causing a strange sensation in my chest to learn that he’s interested in me, and for some reason, I reply, “I don’t have parents. I don’t know my father, and my mom left us a year ago.”

His eyes widen for a moment, yet I don’t understand why.

“And are you of mixed race?” he probes.

“Yeah, my mother is Indian, and I think my father was white.”

“That explains the dark hair and light eyes,” he mumbles and persists with his interrogation, “So you started this job after your mother left because...?” His tone is soft.

“I didn’t start right after my mom left. But I dropped out of college, and clearly, being a whore, things didn’t end up well for me.” As I say the words, I’m reminded of the cosmic differences between us.

He’s rich and I’m poor.

He’s someone powerful and I’m no one.

I should stop talking because he could use any of this information against me. If I’ve learned anything these last two days, it’s that I can’t trust anyone.

Despite that fact, I wonder, “Why do you want to know all of this? After this weekend, we’ll never see each other again.”

He looks at me without judgment, a look no other client has ever given me, but he speaks coolly, “Probably.” And he rubs his hand over his forehead, a sign that he’s as exhausted as I am while I also still feel woozy.

Carmine shifts to the bed and lies on the right side.

I lie down next to him, making sure that no parts of our bodies are touching as he flings one arm over his eyes, but he’s not done with me yet.

“You only have until tomorrow to give me my watch,” he informs me.

“I know.” Despondently, I keep peeking at his muscular frame.

He appears laid-back yet still ready to spring into action if I make a wrong move.

“So who’s the girl that gave you the watch? Something that valuable to you must have been given by someone special.”

“How did you know it was a girl?”

“I didn’t until now.”

His lips twitch.

“Don’t be surprised,” I say.

“I am though.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re even more intriguing than I imagined,” he answers, and I ponder whether or not it’s a compliment until he finishes, “Stop staring at me, Eva. The Q&A session is over. Go to sleep. And don’t think about doing anything funny, because I’ll know.”

His words bring me back down to earth, and the reality of the situation sets in, which I temporarily forgot but, obviously, he didn’t.

Although we argue about everything, he has helped me. And since he’s the first one to ever do so, I keep staring at him – at his honed body and the tattoo beneath his left elbow, which is indeed a string of letters in black ink that spell: Sophia Max Adriano Mary.

So he’s most likely a family man. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have the affection of a man like him. I desire to touch him, yet the effect he has on me also frightens me. While he annoys me most of the time, I am attracted to him. His chest rises and falls, and I reach out tentatively to trace his solid abs. I wonder how it would feel to be in his arms – I’ve always speculated about how it would feel to be in someone’s arms since I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. When you have a brother with Down syndrome and no money, relationships have no place in your life.

All of a sudden, he lets out a snore, making me grin, and I cautiously roll to my side.

So... he’ll know if I do anything, will he?

He was more drunk than I am, but sleep tugs at me as I whisper, “Carmine?”

Since he doesn’t respond, I scoot closer, gently resting my arm over his stomach, and press myself against his warm body – for just a second.

It’s strange yet nice yet scary. Nonetheless, I drift off to dreamland.

***

“What the fuck?!”

I wake with a jolt, disoriented and flustered, when I’m pushed to my back and my hands are planted beside my ears as I’m confronted with Carmine’s unrelenting glare.