Page 112 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
"You okay?" Roman asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice. How can I explain that I'm terrified not of him, but of this effect he has on me? That I'm afraid totrust him completely even while my body betrays me by craving his touch?
“Thank you for helping me. Nobody has cared enough to look deeper."
"I care," he says simply.
And that's the problem. I'm beginning to believe him.
Beginning to see the man behind the enforcer.
The devoted father, the loyal friend, the person who notices when I'm afraid and tries to ease that fear.
I'm falling for the one man I should run from. And the worst part? I'm not sure I want to stop.
He lifts me and settles next to me in bed. I curl into him like it’s the most normal thing in the world and fall asleep.
I don’t know what wakes me. It’s still dark out, moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains.
Next to me, Roman sleeps soundly, his breathing deep and even.
I turn on my side, studying him. In sleep, the hardness melts from his face.
The constant vigilance, the calculating gaze that misses nothing are all gone.
He looks almost peaceful.
The sheet has slipped down to his waist, exposing his broad chest.
My eyes trace the contours of his muscles, the scars that mark his skin like a history book of violence.
One particularly jagged line runs across his left shoulder. I wonder what, or who, gave it to him.
I shouldn't be looking at him this way. This marriage is a business arrangement, a stay of execution. Nothing more.
Yet I can't tear my eyes away from the sheet that pools loosely around his hips, hiding the rest of him from view.
My fingers twitch with the urge to touch him. To explore this man who threatens and protects me in equal measure. Who makes me feel both terrified and safe.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach out. Carefully, I grasp the edge of the sheet. My breath catches as I slowly pull it down, revealing more of him inch by inch.
The defined V of his hips. The trail of dark hair leading lower. The powerful thighs of a man who's spent his life in motion, in pursuit.
He's magnificent. Dangerous. And for now, mine.
I shouldn't want him. But in the darkness, with no one to witness my weakness, I allow myself this moment.
I'm attracted to Roman Ginetti.
To his strength, his devotion to his daughter, his unwavering loyalty.
To the occasional gentleness I glimpse beneath the brutality.
My hand hovers over his skin, not quite touching. In sleep, he's vulnerable in a way he never allows himself to be awake. The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me.
I freeze as Roman stirs beneath my gaze. His eyes remain closed, but a slow smile curves his lips.
“You can touch if you want,” he murmurs, voice husky with sleep.
