Page 18 of Mistletoe in the Mafia

I look down at my skirt. “Because I couldn’t be sure if it was real. I know it’s weird, but I don’t trust people’s names.”

I don’t even trust mine.

When I look back at him, I expect him to be staring at me like I’m cuckoo, or at the very least sporting a confused expression. Instead, I glimpse some understanding.

“Dominic’s real. I promise,” he says gently.

My heart speeds up and something flutters in my stomach. I reach for the bottle of wine, but he stops me, placing a hand on my wrist. Goosebumps break out along my skin. His touch is soft, featherlight.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“I’ve had four glasses,” I protest.

“Precisely.” He sets his own glass on the table, still his first which he never even managed to actually finish. And then he takes my empty glass from my hand.

“Seriously, I’d like to have some more. I’m as sober as a judge,” I tell him.

That’s a lie. I’m slightly tipsy and I’d probably feel it if I stood up, but I’m still pretty clear-headed.

“That makes no sense,” Dominic informs me.

“It’s an expression. You don’t have to take it literally. What are you, the expression police?” I question on a frown.

“No more wine, Madelyn,” he says assertively.

“I told you I wanted to get plastered.”

“That’s probably not a good idea right now.”

“Why the hell not?”

He doesn’t give me a verbal answer, but the way he looks at me makes it pretty clear what he’s insinuating. And I mean, he really looks at me. I finally understand the term “eye-fucking.” Dominic stares at me like I’m a meal to be devoured, and I don’t have enough grace to be scared. My body grows warmer.

“Would you stop?” I ask, unable to take it anymore.

I’m all hot and bothered and I seriously need to get out of here.

“Stop what?” he asks with fake innocence.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I snap.

He places his arm around the back of the couch. “Like what?”

“Like you want to have sex with me.”

I blame the wine for how easily those words left my lips. Dominic grins wolfishly.

“I don’t have sex with women, Madelyn. I fuck them, hard and rough.”

Fuck me. I clench my legs together, feeling a dull aching throb spreading between my thighs. He stares at me from above his wine glass, a smug expression on his face.

“You look hot,” he observes. “Something wrong?”

My fists clench when my stomach takes a plunge at the sound of his voice. You know what? I’ve already gone through a lot in the past couple of hours. I’ve been in a fight, passed out, and woken up in the company of a stranger. I might as well toss my dignity to the side as well.

“I have a proposition,” I start.

“Go on.”

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