Page 50 of One Secret

'I lived with my mother until I was four. That's when my old man came to get me and took me to the Machellis. He was an enforcer for them. Scariest man alive. Or so I thought. I grew up in all of it.'

So he hadn't had a choice, I realize. The world of organized crime was all he'd grown up knowing.

And yet...

He'd kept his independence. He wasn't sold to a particular family for money or loyalty.

'You work freelance now?'

Now, Cyrus looks really exposed. And more than a little trapped. Emotions I've never seen on him before.

'Yeah...' He clears his throat. It sounds like an old car failing to turn over. 'I used to work for the Machellis exclusively and then I er... I took a break. I came back a few years later as a contractor only. Wanted more say in what I was doing.'

Cyrus knows I'm not an idiot. I can see it in his eyes as he glances nervously into mine, then turns a fixated stare on my mouth. I can spot the glaring hole in his story; the catalyst so large that it spurred him to leave the only world he knew and recreate himself from the ground up.

Pivot and change.

And whilst curiosity is biting at the backs of my teeth, I don't dare ask Cyrus for more details. That would be going too far. The hands tracing the lines of my back aren't as sensual now as they were. Now they feel more... seeking. Looking for some kind of comfort. I'm not sure Cyrus has noticed the change in his hold. Or the vulnerability in his stare. But another push and that crack behind his eyes might just split wide open.

A pulse is already jolting in front of his ear. A morse code call for "mayday".

'So...' I change my tone to one of dark challenge. Fiesty but immature.

I switch my hold from his face to his wrists. I run the tips of my fingers along the ridge of his forearms. I stroke over a soft bump, where vein passes over bone, and continue up towards the biceps. Each is well-defined, with a sharp line of shadow hugging the underside of the muscle. The thick masses of his upper arms are hot to the touch.

I lean in closer, our noses almost touching...

'Want that tension release now?' I tease.

The vulnerability disappears. It takes a second for my words to sink in and then it just... evaporates right out of his skin.

Cyrus's hands tighten to grips of iron: one at my hip, clutching the waistband of my board shorts. The other has worked its way up into my hair, messing with my ponytail and shooting delicious shivers over my scalp.

'We could have been doing just that all morning if you hadn't disappeared on me...' Cyrus growls. He fists my hair, guides my skull back, and exposes my neck. Vulnerable and open to his predatory desires. His lips find my throat and that heat rushes back with a greater intensity. I sigh into his touch and arch my back. My pubis shifts forward for balance and presses hard against his stiff erection. We both gasp.

'We could have been doing it last night,' I point out, unwilling to take all of the blame. 'But you let me sleep...'

Cyrus seems to groan with regret.

'I did...' he grunts uncharitably.

'That was kind of you...' I point out.

He grunts again, less than impressed. At least I now understand his earlier remark about there being too much "politeness" going on...

'Yeah well...' he says, working up the tendon of my neck and nibbling at the sensitive cover beneath my ear. 'If you want the gentleman act on the regular, you're going to have to invest in some proper pajamas.'

I giggle.

I slept last night as I do most nights: in a simple tank top and lace panties. Not exactly provocative lingerie but tempting enough to torment a man honorably trying to keep his hands to himself.

'I can wear something similar for you tonight, if you like?' I suggest.

Suddenly, the kissing stops. Cyrus's head jackknifes upright.

'You wanna wait until tonight?' he asks, apparently choking a little on my lunacy.

My grin broadens.

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