Page 51 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s daring me to say it. To recount, in excruciating detail, what happened in his office. How he pinned me against his desk. How he bent me over. How we—

My pulse spikes. The memory rushes in. Every detail, every sound, the intoxicating scent of him all around me.

I haven’t forgotten.

And judging by the way he’s looking at me, neither has he.

Why, though?We’ve not spoken about the incident since it happened, so why now? Why would he deliberately bring it up?

Does he feel something for me? The thought sounds ridiculous and doesn’t last more than a couple of seconds. Ethan might not be like Anthony, but it’s delusional to think that because we had sex, he’s developed feelings for me.

He’s always struck me as a man with more secrets, deadlier than meets the eye. The scar, the vagueness, the undisclosed trips whenever I come over that have nothing to do with work.

The men around the apartment—I doubt they answer to Anthony—the ones around Ethan’s house and the people who attended the party.

If anything, it’s probably a ruse for something else. It might’ve had something to do with what he’s been handling—I’m a pawn in a big game.

It’s all too much for me to take in, and I find myself unable to breathe. I’m wearing a large crew neck shirt, and I reach for it, pulling forward.

“I should,” I exhale, “I should probably get back to work. I’ve been at it long enough.”

Ethan reaches out and catches my wrist before I turn. I blink rapidly, knowing I’m trapped. I don’t know if I should escape or surrender. The former sounds like a smart plan, and the latter feels too familiar.

“You smell amazing,” he says softly. “What is it?”

“Jasmine. Mango.” The words rush out as he takes a step closer, and I take one back. “That’s all. I—I bought it two days ago.”

Why is that information necessary?

It is. I need to keep my brain engaged before it turns to mush.

Ethan’s hand slides slowly from my wrist to my waist, and I know he’s about to kiss me. My guard lowers, and my eyelids flutter.

Then his phone buzzes.

I blink, momentarily thrown off by the shift in energy. One second, Ethan’s touch is setting my skin on fire, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist with purpose. The next, his phone creates a sharp intrusion that shatters whatever moment we were about to fall into.

At first, he ignores it.

His grip lingers, his breath warm against my skin. Then, with a groan, his hand drops from my waist, leaving a cold absence in its wake.

“Fuck.” The word is low, clipped with frustration. He snatches the phone, his expression darkening as he stares at the screen. Whatever or whoever is on the other end has just ruined his mood.

Without another word, Ethan storms out of the kitchen, his frustration radiating off him like heat. I stand there, my breath shallow, my body still attuned to his touch, but he’s already gone.

“Natalie,” I exhale heavily, running my hands down my jeans shorts. “Jesus, Natalie, what was that?”

I have no idea.He was about to kiss me, and I was going to let him. If things had progressed and he had me pinned against the wall, I wouldn’t have any objections.

Sex in the kitchen? That would definitely cross something off my bucket list.

Before I can gather myself and return to the chicken, a bulky man walks into the kitchen. He’s an unknown face—but I’m used to that—so I smile politely.

“Hi. Is there something I can help you—?”

I’m knocked off my feet as he lifts me and pins me to the fridge. My feet are still dangling off the floor when I see his face coming closer to mine.

Oh no.

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