Page 32 of Desperate Desires

All his power had been pretty much gone. The money had dried up. His contacts moved on. At least, that was what I’d thought.

My father had been dead for over a year now, and the company I’d started a decade ago had only just taken off when he got the news the cancer was terminal.

He’d been disappointed I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps, but he respected my choices. At least, I thought so.

When he’d asked me on his deathbed to bring our name back to its former glory, I didn’t go about it the way he might’ve wished.

Nowadays, Bottarelli was synonymous with success and quality. Hell, we were even featured in Forbes just last month.

Things were good. Or they had been until I got shot.

Clearly, I hadn’t cut enough ties with my father’s old associates. Something I was working overtime now to rectify.

Michelle wasn’t from my world.

She was better than me. A doctor, so I knew she was brilliant before I ever spoke to her.

But I hadn’t been counting on her sense of humor or that hint of vulnerability that slipped through when she allowed her shields to drop.

Michelle was complicated. Intriguing. Of course, anyone would feel something for the sweet, generous, absolutely beautiful woman that she was.

I sure as fuck did.

But the truth tugged at me, stubborn and unwelcome.

Maybe it wasn’t just the moments we shared that made me feel this way.

Maybe it was simply her and had nothing to do with me.

Considering the possibility that what we shared meant nothing was not easy. It was the hardest fucking part of all.

See, I was sure I wanted Michelle Davis the first time I ever laid eyes on her.

But now that I had spent the night with her, well, I yearned for her even more.

Hell, the truth was, I craved her with a fury I never felt before.

Desire like that was a dangerous thing.

People could get lost in it. They could get sloppy. They could stop paying attention to what was important.

I couldn’t afford to do any of that.

I had a business to take care of and a fucking mutiny on my hands.

Fuck the goddamn D’Amato brothers.

Freddy, too, that piece of shit.

Someone was pulling their strings, had to be.

Someone who didn’t want to see a Bottarelli rise from a hood from a broken crime family, an insignificant runner of bookies, to a globally respected businessman.

That person could fuck himself for all I cared.

Nobody was going to tell me what I should do or what my place was.

Anyone who tried was going to see a side of me I’d worked goddamn hard to bury.

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