Rough Stuff Read online

  Smart kid.

  “What can I do for you, Mario?”

  “Boss wants to see you.”

  I frown, looking around and then spotting my phone lying face down on top of my riding jacket a few feet away. I pick it up to see a bunch of missed work calls.

  Fuck.

  “He needs me for what?”

  “He don’t gotta tell you what,” Mario grumbles back, frowning. Mario’s one of those tough guys who’s not actually remotely tough. The kind that dresses the part and talks the talk but pisses their pants at the first sign of something actually going down.

  “But he’s been lookin’ for you, so get your ass down to The Venetian now.”

  I'm not gonna lie, I think about running. I think about getting on my bike, following Mario to the next exit and then just booking it the fuck out of dodge. I mean it’s a long time coming. I never wanted any of this shit anyways. After the service, I just wanted my motorcycle and some peace and quiet. But if Gino knows, which is why I’m assuming he’s calling me in when I had the afternoon off, it means he knows about her too.

  I growl. Yeah, there’s not a chance I’m leaving her like that if this is what’s really going on. No fucking way.

  My muscles clench as I turn off the bike and kick down the stand. I can feel the growl rumbling in my chest as I eye the outside of The Venetian restaurant across the empty afternoon parking lot.

  Fuck it. If this shit is happening, I’m facing it like a man. Doesn’t mean I’m walking in there empty-handed like a dipshit though. I grab the .45 from my saddlebag and tuck it into the back of my jeans, under my leather jacket. But the gun isn’t for me. Or rather, it’s not about me blasting my way out of this thing. It’s for her. It’s for if this whole thing goes sideways, protecting her.

  I know what pulling a gun out at Gino Moretti’s lunch table, surrounded by his guys means. But I also know what cutting off the head does to a snake. If I’m truly walking into a shitstorm, and he knows about what’s happened between me and Quinn? Well, I’m not walking out this fuckin’ restaurant alive anyways, so if I can take out that asshole with me, I can free her from this shit.

  …Me, playing the hero card. Who the fuck ever saw that coming?

  I breeze past the two guys watching the doors. Maybe some other guy meeting the boss would get patted down, but I get a pass. After all, I’m guarding the guy’s wife. Hell, I’m expected to be packing.

  “Roman!”

  Gino smiles at me. Jesus, every time it’s like watching a shark try and make nice.

  “Sit, sit. Sorry to drag your ass in here on your free afternoon.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  He stabs at his pasta. “You want somethin’ to eat?”

  “I’m okay, thanks, boss.”

  “Eat something. You’re at my table.”

  It’s not a request.

  “Yeah, sure, I could eat.”

  “Atta boy.” Gino snaps at some of his guys. “Bring the kid some of that cavatelli, yeah?” Two of them scurry off to the kitchen, and Gino sits back, lacing his fingers across his chest as he looks at me like a hawk.

  “So, how we doing with your new gig?”

  “It’s good, boss, thanks.”

  He smiles. “She’s not giving you too much grief, eh?”

  A couple of the other guys sitting around the room chuckle, only after Gino does of course.

  “She’s a fuckin’ wild filly that one,” he grins, winking at me. “It’s a good thing I know how to tame that ass when it matters, huh?”

  I almost lose it. I know he’s lying. I know he’s never touched her. But it doesn’t’ matter. For one second, even hearing that shit makes me want to lunge across the table and snap his neck. I even briefly weigh the chances of pulling it off, but I know its a lost cause. I’d never make it, and there are better reasons to die than over some stupid bullshit comment.

  A stoic looking waiter waltzes through the kitchen door and brings over a plate of food, placing it down in front of me. Gino smiles again, and I wonder if it’s poisoned or something for a second. But then, that’s not his style. Screw it. I grab my fork and scoop up a bite.

  “You understand the concept of ownership, don’t you, Roman?”

  I nod, looking up at him as I chew.

  “Like, that nice lookin’ bike you rode in here on. That’s yours, yeah?”

  I nod again, swallowing the food. My peripheral vision tries to count the guys in the room, and I try to remember the number of steps from the door to this table.

  “And this nice restaurant we’re eating this delicious food in. It’s mine. You understand?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. Good. Now, I wouldn’t walk outside and sit my ass down on your bike and take it. And you wouldn’t come in here and help yourself to my fucking kitchen, yeah?” His eyes narrow before I can answer. I drop one hand to my side, ready to yank that gun out of my belt as fast as I fucking can.

  “You want to know what else is mine?”

  Fuck this. I’m not going to play dumb with his stupid mind games.

  “Mrs. Moretti?”

  Gino smiles wide. “Smart fuckin’ boy, this one! You’re with her, watching her, guarding her, because you’re a big motherfucker and I want her protected.” The smile vanishes from his face. “See that your eyes and your hands stay to your fuckin’ self.”

  I nod. Mostly because I don’t trust the rebel inside of me not to say something profoundly stupid just to watch Gino lose it.

  “Good,” he smiles easily. “There’s a dinner tonight. I’m rubbing shoulders with the good guys for a change.”

  There’s a few chuckles around the room.

  “It’s campaign fundraising season, and the mayor is having some big shindig.” He smirks. “Guess my dirty money is as good any of the other schmucks in this town, eh?” There’s more laughter at his dumb joke. I manage to force a smile.

  “I’m going to be arriving from another business thing, so I need you to bring Quinn.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  His sharp eyes seem to cut into me for a second before he nods.

  “Good. Dress sharp for this thing. Tonight you’re in the presence of gentlemen, not bikers and army guys.”

  He chuckles.

  “Marines.”

  Gino frowns. “Huh?”

  “I was in the Marines, boss. Not the Army.”

  He gives me a weird look before he turns to grin at his lackeys.

  “So fuckin’ serious, this guy, eh?”

  They all laugh, of course. I just tell myself to rein it the fuck in before I lose it.

  “You got a suit?”

  I frown. Shit.

  “No, actually.”

  Gino scowls. “Well, fuck. I’ll have Quinn get you fitted up.”

  “Boss, that’s really not necess—”

  “It is necessary,” he snaps. “You gotta look good tonight, because you’re there representing me.” He points his fork at me across the table, eying me slowly.

  “Remember, kid. Eyes and hands. They wander?” He smiles and shrugs. “Then they’re mine.”

  Chapter 8

  Quinn

  “You look good.”

  He glances up into the mirror, his eyes meeting mine where I’m standing behind him. His lips pull back in this smirk, and sweet Jesus, that smirk. I blush instantly, my lip catching between my teeth. But I don’t look away. I don’t draw my eyes from his.

  There’s a stupid line I keep thinking of: “absence makes the heart grow fonder.” I think I read it on a Hallmark card, or saw it on some cheesy Pinterest board. It’s stupid as it is, but it’s even stupider for me to be thinking of it like I am. I mean, that cornball line is meant for people with real history — couples who’ve been together for a while and have to be apart.

  …It’s not meant for, well, non-couples, whose collective history involves no-holds-barred sex in an alley.

  After that afternoon in the foyer of my
freaking house, when we just lost control all over again, it’s like something’s changed. It’s gone from us pretending this is some sordid, filthy affair, to seeing it for a lot more than that. Which is silly, I know, because we don’t even really know each other. But, I know what I feel. Hell, I know what he feels. Silly? Reckless? Maybe a little naive?

  Sure, fine. But maybe that’s something I can cling to. Maybe in this fucked up fairytale where I’m kept this in this little gilded glass cage, the least likely man is actually my prince charming. Yeah, I know this isn’t how the world works. I’m not some young girl with googly eyes for the first man to treat her like a queen and fall all over her. I know that a man like Roman, with the shadows that hang over him, is hardly a prince charming.

  …But maybe that’s what’s clicking between us. Maybe the anti-prince-charming and the mob not-really-a-princess is the sort of thing that just makes sense in this broken world.

  The absence and heart fonder thing is rattling around my head because for the last two days since that day on the stairs, it’s like we’ve been apart. I mean, we’ve been in pretty close proximity, but never alone. There’s always some other guys of Gino’s there. Or Gino himself even. You’d think it’d have a cooling effect on whatever this insane attraction between Roman and me is, but, you’d be wrong.

  It’s had the opposite effect. It’s had me aching for more. It’s had me chomping at the bit. It’s had my mind coming up with all sorts of filthy daydreams, sending heat through my body every time he’s near, but when I can’t reach out and touch him. There’ve been looks, and a few lingering hands when he’s helped me into the car, but that’s it.

  So, yeah, I’m sticking with the saying. Absence does make the heart grow fonder. Or maybe in this case it’s more “absence makes Quinn’s lady parts hunger.”

  Absence makes the heart go fucking nuts because the heart has some serious needs that the off-limits, brooding, gorgeous man who’s supposed to be your bodyguard has awakened inside of you.

  “You checking me out?”

  I blush even deeper as Roman’s words drag me out of my thoughts. “Uh, yeah.”

  I mean, of course I am. Roman in a dark alleyway in jeans and t-shirt is hot as hell. Hell, Roman in a freaking clown suit would be hot. But Roman in a custom, expertly fitted tuxedo is like looking at pure sex in a three-piece.

  We’re in Vito Dean’s tailoring shop — this little hidden away spot above the former offices of a casino long gone from Vegas’s skyline. Vito and the shop he runs is like a time portal to another dimension — a place where Sinatra still runs this town and big band plays from every casino. We’re here at Gino’s insistence. There’s this gala tonight — some fundraising event for the Mayor or something, and since Roman will be there as my shadow, Gino’s making him get fitted for a tux.

  …I am not complaining. Because besides the eye-candy filling out the tux in front of me like some sort of Dolce and Gabbana model, well, we’re alone. No other goons of Gino’s. No other wives of his captains who I sometimes have to hang out with as part of the whole image. Just Roman and me.

  Well, and Vito. But at the moment, he’s gone to put the finishing touches on Roman’s vest.

  ..Which means we’re alone.

  It’s like we both realize it at once, and suddenly, there’s no stopping it as we come crashing together. I moan into his lips, shivering heatedly as his strong hands slide around my waist and pull me against him. He spins us, pushing me back into the trifold mirror, his groans vibrating through me.

  “Fuck,” he groans quietly, his lips lingering on mine, his tongue dancing out to tease across them. “I’ve been dying to taste these lips for days.”

  “Oh have you now?”

  “Amongst other things.”

  I blush, panting as his lips move down my jawline, sending electricity pulsing through me.

  “How— oh fuck,” I whimper. “How much time do you think we have until Vito—”

  The sound of footsteps has us jumping apart, me whirling to hide the heat on my face and Roman clearing his throat as he straightens his jacket in the mirror.

  “And the vest, signore,” Vito’s rasping, old-school accented voice clears the heat from the room.

  “Thanks,” Roman growls.

  “On Signore Moretti’s tab today, yes, Mrs. Moretti?”

  I bristle at the name. It’s second nature at this point.

  “Yes,” I say thinly.

  Vito smiles. “Very good then.”

  Roman deftly takes the tux back off, and I do try not to stare at him so openly, what with Vito there. But that doesn’t mean my eyes don’t linger on Roman’s gorgeous, muscled, inked body.

  Damnit, whatever the hell he’s done to me, after two days of not being able to put my hands on him, it’s like every nerve in my body is on fire for him.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

  I snap out of it and realize Vito is gone and a practically naked Roman is grinning at me. With Vito packing the tuxedo up, Roman’s just standing there in tight black boxers and not a stitch else.

  “Oh, can I?”

  I whip my phone out, half expecting him to tell me to knock if off. Instead, he just grins, hooks a thumb into his boxers, and pulls them down.

  Oh yes…

  Hard, chiseled abs, a little trail of dark hair, and then slowly, inch by inch of his cock gets revealed to me. I can feel the heat bloom through me, my skin tingling and my thighs squeezing together as my gorgeous, dark, dangerous bodyguard flashes his cock at me.

  God, he’s not even hard and that thing is still fucking huge.

  “You’re acting like I won’t take your picture,” I tease.

  Roman just shrugs, those dark smoldering eyes piercing into me. “Go ahead.”

  Something hot teases through me, and I swallow thickly. “Pretty sure there’d be hell to pay if pictures of you like, uh,” I blush. “Like this were discovered on my phone.”

  “I’m pretty sure there’d be hell to pay for a lot more than that, sweetheart,” he growls, his muscles rippling as he holds the waist of his boxers down below his cock. I take a shaky breath.

  “Trying to call my bluff?”

  “Why, you bluffing?”

  I bite my lip. “Nope.”

  Click.

  The camera on my phone snaps a shot, freezing the image of my tattooed, carved-out-of-steel bodyguard with his thick cock hanging out on my screen.

  …Hanging out and rapidly growing bigger.

  For some reason, knowing that I’ve just saved proof of us on my phone sends something wicked and hot teasing through me. I can feel my body tingling with even more need for him, my panties growing hot and clinging wetly to my pussy.

  Roman takes a step towards me, and I gasp quietly.

  “Your turn,” he purrs.

  I swallow thickly. “What?”

  “Your turn, sweetheart,” he growls. His eyes lock on mine. “Show me.”

  Oh fuck.

  I know what he wants, and what he’s asking. But it’s like I’m frozen — half in the fear of Vito walking in on this lewd scene at any moment, and half because no one has ever spoken to me like this, and damn is it hot.

  “What— what do you mean?”

  Roman’s eyes flash. “You know what I mean,” he says quietly. His cock is quickly lengthening to full hardness, without him even touching it. I shift where I stand, my thighs rubbing deliciously together as the heat pools between them.

  “Lift up that flirty little skirt that I know you wore just to drive me fucking crazy today—”

  …He’s not wrong, and I love that he spotted it.

  “Pull down those soaked little fucking panties of yours,” his deep voice rumbles through me as he steps closer, making me gasp quietly.

  “And show me that pretty little pussy.”

  Heat explodes through me, and I can feel my heart hammering in my chest. I glance behind me at the closed door to the fitting room, biting my lip. />
  “Show me,” he growls again.

  Slowly, I turn back to him, and before I can second think it, before I can let the fear control me, I just do it. My hands pull at my skirt, yanking it up to my waist and letting him see the white lace panties I’m wearing. He groans, and when he wraps his fist around his big cock and strokes, I moan out loud.

  One hand slides across my hip, my fingers hooking into the edge of my panties and slowly pulling them down. I tug them lower and lower, until they’re tight around my mid-thighs with my pussy totally exposed to his hungry gaze.

  “Good girl,” he purrs. He moves towards me, and I gasp as he suddenly drops to his knees right in front of me.

  “Roman—”

  I start to tug my panties back up, but he stops me with a hand on mine.

  “Uh-uh, sweetheart,” he growls. “Don’t even think about hiding this little pussy away from me. Not ever.” He gently pushes my hand away, and when his hand slides up the inside of my thigh, I whimper. He moves it higher, and his fingers brush across my slick lips, making me moan again.

  “Fuck I love how wet you are for me.”

  His other hand is still between his legs, and he starts to stroke his cock as his fingers brush over my pussy, He leans in, and when his tongue suddenly drags over my seam, I have to bury my mouth in my arm to stop myself from screaming in pleasure. He groans into me, his tongue parting my lips and teasing up and down my slit. He moves up to my clit, the tip of his tongue dancing over my aching bud as his hand strokes that thick cock of his up and down.

  His tongue moves faster, and brushes over my clit again and again. I know we don’t have much time. I know that Vito could walk in on this obscene scene at any moment, and probably immediately call Gino. But I can’t stop. Neither can Roman.

  And neither can the fact that his tongue on my clit like that is going to make me come so fucking hard so fucking quickly.

  It’s like he knows too. It’s like he can read my body better than even I can. His tongue moves exactly how I want him to even before I think it. His hand strokes my lips, a finger slowly easing between them sinks inside as he wraps his lips around my clit and sucks. I moan louder than I should, my hands tangling in his hair, holding him as support as his mouth and his fingers start to push me right towards the edge.