Filed to story: Sold to The Possessive Mafia Boss Book (Xavier & Jane) Free Online >>
“I always know what you mean.”
The thought sends not just a rush of heat but a surge of something more profound through me.
Beyond the images of tangled sheets and whispered promises, there’s a flicker of hope, a longing for a connection that goes beyond the physical. His intensity, the protective aura he exudes, stirs something in me that feels dangerously close to love.
For a fleeting moment, I allow myself to indulge in the fantasy, the idea of surrendering to the passion and intensity I saw lurking in his eyes when he stared hungrily at me back in my kitchen.
But reality crashes straight in, not just dousing the flames of desire but igniting a fire of another kind—a deep-seated yearning for something real with him.
It’s not just his world that scares me; it’s how quickly my heart seems willing to claim him like he said he claimed me.
He’s much older, his life clearly steeped in violence and danger, a world apart from the safety I crave. “Mia, I can’t,” I murmur, the words heavy with resignation. “He’s nearly my dad’s age.”
“Your dad would never have saved you from men like that. Hell, he ran off and left you there knowing they were coming. You sure hit the jackpot when Mr. Milan walked in. Did he even say why he was there?”
“Said he wanted me, not money.”
“Well, there you go. Like I said. Ride him into the night. Use him as a human dildo. Enjoy.”
The sudden click of the door makes me jump. I startle, the phone slipping slightly as I turn to face my intruder. It’s him. Emma’s voice fades into the distance.
He stands there, framed by the doorway, his imposing figure casting a long shadow that stretches across the plush carpet. He stares at me for so long, I quail before him, feeling naked under that intense gaze.
Without a word, he suddenly strides towards me, each step measured and deliberate. His eyes, a stormy blue, lock onto mine, and I find myself unable to look away.
There’s an authority in his gaze, a silent command that speaks louder than any words could.
He reaches out, and before I can react, my phone is snatched from my hand. “We need to talk,” he states, his voice a deep rumble that resonates through the room. It’s not a suggestion; it’s an assertion, as without another glance, he ends my phone call.
“What the fuck?” I say, reaching for the phone.
He switches it off, setting it down on the bedside table. “Sit here,” he says, pointing to two huge armchairs by the window. “Now.”
I’m acutely aware of him as I move his way, of the sheer physicality he exudes. He’s dressed in a way that speaks of power, a suit that seems to absorb the light, tailored to perfection.
His hair, a dark cascade that tempts fingers to touch, to explore, frames a face that could have been chiseled from stone for all its sharp, compelling angles.
He fixes me with a look that feels like it’s peering into my soul, his eyes intense yet somehow inviting trust.
“Who hurt you?” His voice breaks the silence, soft yet firm. “You flinch whenever I come near. Why?”
The question, simple but loaded with depth, slices through my defenses.
I hesitate, not because I don’t trust him, but because voicing my pain makes it real, gives it life. Yet, something about him, perhaps the earnestness in his eyes or the protective aura he exudes, compels me to open up.
My voice trembles, betraying the turmoil within as I start to unravel the threads of my past. “My boss,” I begin, the words tasting bitter, “he always stood too close to me. Made work a nightmare. I needed the money so I kept quiet about him even when he started to touch. I don’t like being touched. Well, I didn’t. Until you took my hand.”
He shakes his head. “Who else? Your father?”
I continue, the dam breaking. “He’s an asshole. Mom died when I was little. She’d kept him in check but after she passed, he had no one to stop him drinking. It’s the drink that makes him violent.”
“You want him killed?” He leans forward in his chair. “Say the word and both your father and your boss are dead.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“The men who hurt you today. They’re dead. All three of them.”
“I don’t want anyone else hurt,” I whisper, a desperate attempt to cling to a semblance of peace, “I’ve seen too much fighting in my life. I just want to feel safe, you know? To be at peace. Dumb dream, I know.”
“Nothing dumb about it. Don’t let anyone tell you peace is impossible.”
In his gaze, I sense a promise of safety not just from harm, but from the loneliness that’s been my constant companion. It’s as if he sees me, truly sees me, in a way no one else has. And it’s terrifying because it makes me want to lean into that feeling, to trust it might be love.
He nods. “I have increased the security on your home today, ensured the mortgage is paid off. No one will ever hurt you again.” He frowns, seeing me shaking my head. “Problem?”
“I’m not worth all this trouble,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself, an unconscious attempt to shield my curvy frame from his scrutinizing gaze. “Why am I so important to you?”
His voice is steady when he answers. “I’ve been watching you longer than you might be comfortable with,” he admits, his gaze never wavering.
His confession sends a shiver down my spine. “You’ve been watching me?” I say.
I’ve felt eyes on me before, chalked it up to city living or my own paranoia. But to know it was him, all this time? It scares me. Yet, amidst the fear, a perverse sense of being cared for seeps in. Can I be angry at him for watching over me when it’s brought me to safety today?
“I first saw you a year ago. I was driving by your store when you walked past and I had my car stop at once. I couldn’t stop staring at you. I’ve driven past every weekday at the same time for the last year.
“I’ve seen the way you bite at your lip when you’re stressed. The way you rub your hands together no matter how warm it is. I know how stressed you are, all the time.”