Page 6 of Enforcer Book Boyfriend

“Exactly,” he replied, his eyes roaming over me with an intensity that left me feeling exposed in the best possible way. “I intend to savor every moment with you, Grace. Take my time truly getting to the woman underneath.” His voice was sin incarnate.

I swallowed hard, my body reacting to his words, to the dark promise in them. “I’m not sure I’m a fan of slow,” I said, surprised my voice didn’t betray the tremble I felt inside.

Dillon leaned forward, his hand coming to rest on my knee beneath the table. Even through the fabric of my dress, his touch burned. “Trust me, baby. With me, you’ll learn to appreciate the build-up. The delicious torture of anticipation.”

I held his stare, refusing to be the first to look away, to concede. “Pretty sure of yourself there, aren’t you?”

His hand slid higher up my thigh, and I clenched my teeth to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep. And I promise you, Grace, when I’m done with you, you’ll be thoroughly…satisfied.”

“Well, damn. Who knew that’s what you had in store for me?” I smirked.

“That’s the plan,” he retorted lazily, his gaze roving over me with a possessiveness that had my skin prickling in anticipation. He chuckled lightly, the sound echoing through the booth and wrapping around us like a cloak. “I thought you would want all the romance and shit. If that’s what you need, I’mwilling to give it to you. Plus, don’t all women want that first? Wining? Dining?”

“Well, life’s full of surprises, because I’m not like those other women. Wining and dining are nice, but I like what we’re doing here.” I countered with a shrug, crossing my legs slowly, drawing his attention to the line of brown skin peeking from under my skirt.

His gaze followed the motion, darkening noticeably. “So it seems.”

We continued our little back and forth, trading barbs and smiling over the lips of our glasses. It was tantalizing, this push and pull between us. Dangerous but addictively thrilling.

The clink of ice against glass punctuated our conversation, a steady rhythm to the night’s ebb and flow. We were several drinks deep—bourbon for Dillon, vodka tonic for me—and his stories unfolded like those of my favorite author. He pulled me into his world, weaving stories of his past that only made me want to know more about him. He was fascinating and his life was dangerous, and I wanted more.

Being with Dillon was like a balm to my soul. He fed me information about his life, but not to scare me off. Not after that first night. It still made me wonder if he was really what he claimed to be. No one this funny and engaging could really be a hardened killer and mob enforcer, right? I took a sip of my drink as he continued his story.

“Then he had the balls to come at me with a baseball bat,” Dillon chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his tumbler. “Let’s just say he swings for a different team now.”

“Sounds like he struck out,” I shot back, the alcohol loosening my tongue. I know it was a corny comeback, but I couldn’t help it. The smile on my face was huge, and my entire body shook with laughter at my joke.

“Big time.” His eyes glinted with mischief, allowing me that moment. But then something shifted in his gaze and the posture of his body. He glanced off to the side. A flicker of confusion, then anger, cut through the humor on his face like a razor.

“Dillon. Is something wrong?” I asked, twisting to look.

“Stay here, Gracie. Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back.” He pressed a hand to my shoulder, a brief touch that sent a wave of heat down my spine.

I watched as he slipped away, his movements a mix of grace and menace. That’s when I saw him—the man. He was nondescript, the kind you’d never pick out of a lineup, but Dillon tracked him like a hawk.

Then the guy handed off something—a phone, maybe?—to another shadow slinking in the dark corners of the club. Dillon paused in his steps. Even from where I sat, I could see one hand go to his jacket and pull the material back. Did he have a gun? No. Not possible. Wait, what was I saying? It was entirely possible. He was part of the mafia, right?

After a few moments, Dillon turned back to me. As he approached our seats, I could see his jaw tighten, and that’s when I knew. Our fun night had just taken a drastic turn. “Dillon?” It seemed so cliche, but all I could do was call his name. Were we in danger? Who was that guy? What was happening?

“Grace, we gotta go,” he said to me. There was no room for questions in his tone, only commands. From the look in his eyes, I wouldn’t be getting any answers to my unspoken questions anytime soon.

With a shaky breath, I gathered my purse and rose from my chair. My heart thudded against my chest, the combination of adrenaline and alcohol coursing through me. I knew I was stepping into Dillon’s world now, for better or worse.

We made our way through the oblivious crowds of party-goers, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the tension that gripped me. Dillon pulled out his phone, his fingers moving frantically over the screen.

“Conall, it’s D,” he spoke urgently into the device. “We’ve got a problem.”

And in an instant, the night shifted into unknown territory. Fear coiled in my stomach as I wondered what kind of trouble was brewing around us, and could I stomach what was to come?

Was the reality of being with someone I had dreamed of for so long worth the risk?

FOUR

Grace

I moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, the soft glow of candles casting dancing shadows on the walls. I’d chosen a playlist with just enough bass to feel it in your bones, but not so loud as to drown out conversation. It was perfect, or at least, I wanted it to be.

Checking the oven, I found the roast cooked to a succulent tenderness, its aroma promising a meal to remember. This dinner was my gambit. My way of showing Dillon that last night’s abrupt end wasn’t enough to scare me off.

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