Husband. The word rang in Beck’s ear like an old church bell. He wished he had on more clothes to punch those two oversize Shreks around him. The sheet had slid when he’d fought back the first time.

Though now, the surprise in Garubo’s face surpassed any previous shock. Shit. Why the hell did he listen to his dick and let her lick him? If he hadn’t, at least they would have been in more appropriate when her father barged in. Think about the account. Partnership.

“Yes, we got married last night, but it was a mistake,” he said. His father was probably right. He usually sabotaged himself whenever he was close to getting what he wanted. He’d done so by getting cozy with the boss’s daughter before taking her to him. And he’d just done it again, by calling their marriage a mistake. Shit, he couldn’t just go along with it though. He’d explain—

“Mistake?” Garubo stepped forward, his eyes narrowing and the creases on his face tightening. “You married a third generation Garubo and you’re calling it a mistake? Do you have any idea how insulting and ungrateful you are?” he asked, and before he moved, the two men held him each in one arm.

He’d offended New York’s most traditional Italian mobster. He should have known, as his previous brief yet fruitful experience representing the Espositos, another traditional mafia family, had taught him those people were loyal. They were loyal to their business partners, if they found them trustworthy and profitable. More than anything, they were loyal to their own. Kiss partnership good-bye.

Beck swallowed.

Clarissa nudged her father’s elbow. “I agree. It was wrong to get married without your presence, Papa. Beck feels bad about it, too. Everything was so fast, and we fell madly in love in such a short time. We didn’t want to wait,” she said sweetly.

His gaze collided with hers. She lifted her eyebrow, widened her eyes as if to send a secret message to him. Telling him to go along.

“It’s true,” he said at last.

Garubo made a hand gesture, and the two men let go of him. Clarissa promptly handed him the sheet, which he wrapped around his waist again. He had enough experience reading a jury to know what Garubo’s reaction would be…. If he told Garubo he planned on filing for annulment, the man would chop his nuts off. He needed time, to think—and for Garubo to cool down. Another conversation, later that night would do it. Without bodyguards. And with clothes.

“I can’t consider this a real marriage if it’s not done right. In the same church I got married in New York, with all our families and friends.”

Beck cleared his throat. Garubo, the money laundering mobster wanted his daughter to have a traditional wedding? “I understand, sir,” Beck said, making himself a note to bring this up later.

Garubo curled his lips, and said, “Now, go get properly dressed. I’ll wait at the lobby, and we can all go out for lunch. There’s a lot to talk about.”

“Sounds good, Papa,” Clarissa said, then ushered them out the door.

When she returned, an expression of relief washed over her face. “Phew. That was close.”

Close? “I don’t understand why you’re so calm. Your father believes this is a real marriage,” he said, then ran his hand down his face. Clarissa was young and naïve, and he shouldn’t have to be a dick to her. “Look, later tonight I’ll talk to your father and explain. He has to understand. We barely know each other.”

She shrugged. “My father married my mother after a week. I don’t think he cares much for timeframes.”

“Nevertheless… I was drunk. We were both drunk,” he added.

“I’m not twenty-one. So you may have to leave the underage drinking bit out.”

“How old are you?” he said. She looked adorably young, but the women he dated did all kinds of treatments. During their trips, he’d preferred to keep the topics of conversation as impersonal as possible. They discussed music, politics and current events.

“Nineteen.”

Fuck. So now, not only had he married a mobster’s daughter and jeopardized his potential partnership at the office, he’d also given alcohol to a teenager. “Nineteen!”

“I’m an old nineteen, if that helps.”

He could have laughed if the situation wasn’t so freaking crazy. God. He almost wished he could drink himself out of reality, but alcohol had put him in this predicament in the first place. If he had kept his super professional behavior, he’d have dropped her off and called Garubo. But no, he had to agree to show her around, eat together.

“It doesn’t help. Listen, Clarissa, we have to find a way to make your father understand. We can’t stay married against our will. This is the twenty-first century.”

“Hear me out. You want my father’s business, right?”

He nodded.

“Well, there’s no way in hell you’ll get it if you divorce me or annul. My father is very old-fashioned, and he’ll take it as an insult,” she said steadily. “I’m afraid to say, Papa can be unpredictable, so God knows what else can he would do to you.”

He understood her point of view. For an old timer like Garubo, a quickie divorce meant his daughter, and by extension his family, weren’t good enough for him. “What do you suggest?”

She sat on the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Well, why don’t we stay married for, say, six months to a year? This way, by the time we get divorced, Papa will know we rushed into it, but we really gave it a try. And I’ll say it’s my call. I can be the bad guy because I’m his daughter.”

“Why can’t you be the bad guy now?”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. He popped his knuckles. Something didn’t make sense. Clarissa didn’t seem to be at all bothered about staying linked to a guy she barely knew—she pretty much suggested it without a blink.

His gut clenched, and he gazed at her. “You want us to stay together, don’t you? You have a hidden agenda, and I’m part of it.”

“I call it an opportunity.” She flashed him a nervous smile. “Your dealing with my father can further your career, yes?”

An account as big as Garubo’s meant he could make partner at Steinhouse & Woods. He knew it because Milton Steinhouse had guaranteed it to him. Beck would climb to the top all by himself—with no help from his father or his firm. “Yes.”

“Good. If we stay married long enough, Papa will not only do business with your firm, but grow accustomed to it. He’s a creature of habits. So when we part our ways… he’ll like you enough to keep working with you especially if I’m the bad guy.”

He folded his arms. Sounded too good to be true. “What’s in it for you?”

“My aunt raised me after my mother died. She was a very strict lady, and Papa liked it that way. If I’m married, even for a short amount of time, my father will finally see me as a woman and not just a girl who needs sheltering. I want to work on the family business, the part that rightfully belonged to my mom, the legal side.”

He drew back. The woman who talked in front of him surely didn’t remind him of the talkative girl he’d shared a long ride from NY. She spoke with confidence and measure. Frustration rolled down his spine. The truth punched him in the stomach. I’ve been played. “Did you call your father and gave him our suite number? So he’d find us naked?”

She surged to her feet, and looked away from him.

Determined, he clasped her elbow and forced her to face him. If she tried to lie to him, he’d know. “Tell me.”

She chewed on her lower lips, staring deep into his eyes. “I didn’t know my father was coming. I swear. I texted Francesco, his employee, to tell him we’ve arrived safely.”

Arrived safely? Did she think he was some moron? “You knew he’d tell your father you had arrived with me. Didn’t you?”

She nodded, slowly. “Yes.”

Anger built in his core. She’d lied to him. Played him. How different was she from his father’s second wife, who had fooled him consistently during their short-lived marriage? Beck’d only marry—if ever— when he really met someone he trusted. Someone for whom he’d put his life on the line. How did this woman expect him to pretend to be married when even during make believe she’d deceived him? “When did your sordid plan begin? In NY?”

“Listen, you’re not a victim. You don’t remember you drank way too much; I get it. But I didn’t handcuff you to the twenty-four-hour chapel. I did see it as a great opportunity for me to prove myself. My father will never believe I can run his company one day if he doesn’t give me a shot. I’m too young, too irresponsible, too inexperienced. If I’m a married woman who wants to learn so she can one day pass on the legacy to her children, all of a sudden it’s a different story.”

“I can’t believe you did this just so you’d fix whatever daddy issues you have.”

“Trust me. If you stay married to me, you’ll win too, and you know it. So, what is it going to be?”

“Welcome, Ms. Garubo,” the hostess of one of the hottest places in Vegas said.

“It’s Mrs. Anderson,” Clarissa said almost as if she believed her marriage was real. Clarissa had never visited the place, but she assumed her father had mentioned his daughter and son-in-law would be joining him. She glanced at Beck. He sure didn’t look amused, keeping a blank stare ever since she’d asked if he was in a few hours later. He hadn’t answered. He needed time to think.

As they walked in tandem to meet her father, she hoped Beck wouldn’t surprise her during dinner. What if he snitched on her and told her father her plan in exchange to fall on his good graces when he delivered the divorce news? Annulment, rather.

She smoothed the black little dress with her hand. She’d bought it at the lobby story, hours earlier. The clothes Aunt Aurora approved of had always been pastel colored, knee-length, like she’d joined a sect without her knowledge. And now… the flirty dress made her feel sassy. The hem played at her thighs, it ruffled as she moved. She’d even hoped… Beck would find her attractive.

Silly, but she wanted him to. Women turned their heads as he strode past them, and Clarissa enjoy being the one on his side. Temporarily.

“Bambina,” her father exclaimed when she sat, and hugged her as if that was the first time he saw her.

She hugged him back, but didn’t let her father warm greeting change her resolve. He’d sent her to live with her mother’s ultra-conservative sister to make sure she’d turn into some sort of doormat herself. That woman stripped her from any joy a girl her age should have. Clarissa would never forgive him.

“Beck,” her father said, and offered his hand for a shake. The simple gesture meant a lot coming from him, and Beck quickly took it and they exchanged a firm handshake.

Leave it to her father to act like they’d just reunited now and the incident from hours earlier had never taken place. She slid into the booth, and Beck sat next to her.

During dinner, every so often she’d shift on her seat and her arm would brush Beck’s. A sizzling sensation shot up through her each time, and she caught herself stealing glances his way. What a man…

“Clarissa,” her father called her.

She blinked out of her musings. “Yes?”

“I contacted a great wedding planner. She’ll help you to organize a wedding celebration.”

“Oh wow. You did that already?”

“Of course. The earlier you two get a blessing from the church, the better,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Then you won’t be living in sin anymore.”

Living in sin. Hhhhmmm. Let Papa rationalize about decorum and religion. He could tell his henchmen to beat up a business partner who betrayed him, yet every damn Sunday he’d go to the church. Even shortly after his hip replacement surgery.

Though living in sin with Beck seemed such an intriguing and irresistible idea. She gave him the side-eye, desperate to read his response to her father’s nonsense. Beck curled his sexy lips but didn’t say anything, and quickly changed the subject.

When dinner ended and they returned to their suite, she drew in a breath. What to do? Last night they’d slept on the same bed because they’d both been drunk, but now… “You haven’t said a word to me since we left the restaurant,” she said to Beck.

Beck removed his jacket and tossed it across the room. “Did you know about your father contracting a planner? About this big shebang he’s already preparing?”

“I suspected it,” she said. To her father, a marriage only counted when it’d been witnessed by his friends and family. “He said it as much earlier, don’t you remember? When he caught us.”

“If he said it, then it makes everything okay,” Beck said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Do you realize as the weekend goes by, each second I’m deeper into this shit? That now I have to face dozens of people and pretend we’re this happy couple?”

“I assure you some of those people will be great business contacts for the future. Don’t minimize the importance of an event like this to your career, especially after you become a partner in your firm.”

Beck shook his head. “Yeah, bunches of corrupt mobsters. A dream wedding by all counts.”

“Seems like you were dying to get the account of a certain corrupt mobster,” she said, then removed her high heels. Without them, he looked even more powerful than her. But she didn’t care, she walked past him like she was the taller of the two, with her chin up, even if her insides sizzled with red hot anger.

She entered the large, marbled bathroom. She grabbed a couple of tissues and dabbed them on water. She should start taking off her makeup, but sadness welled up inside her. Not because Beck had been wrong, but because he’d been right. She stared at herself in the mirror.

This is all she’d ever be… the daughter of a Mafia giant. Her heart shrunk to the size of an olive. She blinked back the tears, remembering how her mother had suffered because of her father’s illegal occupation. Too many times had she found her mother wiping away tears after eavesdropping on conversations about her father’s ruthless business opponents or a spiteful enemies.

Now she was of age and had a plan, she couldn’t let the dozens of jewelry stores around the country—named after her mother— bleed into her father’s shady shenanigans.

She turned around and leaned against the countertop, arms folded like her own reflection upset her.

“Clarissa?” Beck called her softly.

She raised her gaze to him, and found him leaning against the thresh hold. He offered her a close-lipped smile. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, arms falling to her sides. “Why? It’s true. I didn’t choose my father, and he is a criminal. Why would you not rub that in my face after I used you for my own dirty scheme?”

He let out a sigh, and walked up to her a step or two. “I’m mad at the situation. I don’t like to be fooled, ever. I do understand your motivations. I don’t agree with you, I don’t trust you, but I sure as hell can’t judge you.”

“So you’re open to staying married then? For a little while?”

“Six months. That should be enough for you to show your father you can manage his businesses and I’ll do the same.”

“Thank you,” she said, and relief washed over her. She erased the distance between them and hugged him before he had a chance of denying her. She plastered herself against his extra large, tone physique, and linked her arms around his head.

It was supposed to be an embrace of gratitude.

He stiffened at first, probably surprised at her gesture. Then, his arms enclosed her, and she sighed into his body. The previous night, they’d made out in the elevator, his touch seared her and his tongue teased her. Sadly, she’d been drunk, and didn’t take as much advantage of the mini-hookup session as she should.

Now…

She felt his heart thrumming against her ear. Swallowing, she pondered. Did he want her as much as she did him? During her reclusive life at her aunt’s, she hadn’t had any steady boyfriends—but she did manage to sneak out of the house and date a few boys from her church. She’d made out with them, but none of them had wanted the responsibility of taking her virginity. After all, they knew who her father was.

Beck’s cock poked her, the encouragement she needed. He wants me.

He didn’t trust her or agreed to her reasons… but he understood her, or claimed to, and that meant more than anything. Besides, he wanted her. She stood on her tiptoes, and pulled his head down so her lips brushed his.

A low, deep groan filled the air. She shoved her fingers into his silky set of hair, and opened her mouth to him. Beck didn’t wince. He plunged his tongue inside her, and she reveled in that sexy caress. Their tongues caressed, played, stroked each other passionately. A hot throb formed in her pussy, quickly spreading through her body as a phenomenal awareness prickled all her senses.

He growled, and the sexy sound caused another shot of arousal to pump into her veins. “Clarissa,” he said gravely, lifting her from the floor and placing her on the countertop. The coolness of the marble contrasted against the heat claiming her flesh. She wrapped her legs around his torso, not willing to be away from him for even a moment.

Had they been this hot for each other the previous night?

She touched his chest, her hands hovering over his muscly pecs. He pulled her closer, and his erection rubbed against her hot pussy. Her underwear and the fabric of his slacks didn’t contain the energy pulling them toward each other. She squirmed, having never experienced such crazy, reckless need in her life.

He pulled down her dress, and her breasts spilled free, bouncy, ripe. They’d never felt so full and her nipples so tight. He dipped his head lower and she leaned on the mirror, turning her head sideways to give him complete access. Soon, Beck was licking her neck all the way down her tit.

God. Desire roared inside her, her heavy breathing fogging the mirror.

“Beck. Oh, yes. So good.”

He cupped one breast with one hand, while licking the other.

Shivers rolled down her spine, and she arched toward him until he captured her nipple into his mouth. “This is… oh…”

He groaned against her chest. “What is it? Talk to me, baby.”

Baby. The overused endearment quickened her pulse—because he’d said it. Beck. The hottest guy she’d ever seen, the one who was opening the door to a world of pleasures she’d never visited. A world she expected to fully explore with him.

He nipped her sensitive flesh, and she moaned. Loudly.

Her pearly essence soaked her underwear, her clit throbbing wildly. “Touch me, Beck. Make me yours,” she said, knowing fully well she would be his temporarily. Damn it though, she’d make it count.

He sucked her other breast, as he slid his hand down between her legs. He slipped one finger into her underwear, and she bucked into his palm. “You’re so wet, Clarissa. Nice and tight for me. Relax your legs, baby. Let me feel you.”

How could she relax when her thighs trembled, anticipation and excitement sending out little thrills through her? She pulled up his head and brought him closer, capturing his lips with hers in a passionate kiss. He slid another finger into her panties, and now they moved, playing with her slick folds, adding the thumb to tease her clit.

She hissed out. She’d touched herself before, obviously, and a date once copped a feel over her jeans. Nothing compared to his deft fingers caressing her, stroking her, driving her crazy for more.

He intensified the kiss, his tongue ruthlessly exploring her mouth. She squeezed his broad shoulders, loving the feel of his tone, hard body. Then, he made invisible circles on her clit, the pressure just right, flicking it with his thumb. Currents of pleasure formed in her core and soon, a huge wave of bliss washed over her. She quivered. The climax claimed her completely, deliciously, and possessively.

Sweat slicked over her face, arms and legs.

He peppered kisses on her cheeks, nose and finally, he kissed her mouth again. Oh, the sensation of his tongue ravishing hers, his teeth grazing her lower lip until they released it with a sexy ‘pop’. Her heart thrummed against her ribcage.

She reached for his pants, eager to unzip him and hold his hard cock in her hand. Maybe she didn’t have the finesse and experience most of his lovers possessed; but she’d make up for it with enthusiasm. Oh, yes. She’d show Beck whether their marriage was real or not, they both agreed on one thing: the hot lovemaking they were about to share was anything but fake.