Page 15 of Broken Mafia Bride

At my feet, the ancient family dog raises its head and shoots me a droll, judgmental look. I hurriedly look away. “Marco is good-looking and nice.”

The other woman snorts. “Are we listing all of his good characteristics now, cause I’m sure you can do better than that. It’s obvious he likes you, and you like him too. What is the holdup?”

“I think you’re forgetting something.” I wave in the general area of my slightly protruding stomach.

Her mouth curls up into a smirk, amusement flashing in her eyes. “I see it, he sees it, and if I have to guess, I’ll say your pregnancy hormones have definitely seen him.”

I scowl at her, but she just throws her head and laughs. She’s so right about my pregnancy hormones going crazy, though. I’ve had to remind myself every day that my life is already complicated enough, and I can’t complicate it further by getting involved with Marco.

Or can I?

Now that she’s put the thought in my head, it refuses to leave, and I catch myself staring at Marco more often for the rest of the night. I wasn’t lying when I said he’s good-looking, with his mop of dark blond hair, golden eyes, and muscled body.

“Are you okay? You’re quiet,” he points out as we pull away from the street and head back home in his pickup. “Did Si say something? Do I need to have a chat with her?”

I open my mouth to tell him about my conversation with her, but then I change my mind. “No. No, it’s nothing really.” When he continues staring at me with suspicion, laughter spills out of my throat. “Stop it, Marco, I’m fine.”

I see his shoulders visibly relax. It makes my smile grow a little wider. Marco is perfect in every way, and I’m not blind to the way he looks at me, even though I like to pretend otherwise to Sienna. There’s just a part of me that’s hesitant, and I have no idea why.

“You carefor some tea before bed?” Marco calls from the kitchen. The question is followed by the sound of dishes clanking.

“Sure,” I mumble with a mouth full of cashews. I’ve been addicted to the things since my second month. Sienna assured me that it’s a pretty safe addiction, and since then, there’s always been jars of them stocked up in the pantry.

Marco appears with two mismatched cups of tea and hands me one. I sit up and begin to reach for it, but end up moving too fast.

“Ouch,” I cry as the hot liquid spills over my hand.

“Shit, sorry.” He jumps into action, dropping the cups and grabbing some paper towels.

“No, no. It’s not your fault,” I tell him. “Just a bit clumsy.”

“It was totally my fault.” He shoots me a sheepish smile, kneeling between my spread legs to inspect my hand. Pursing his lips, he blows cool air over the area, causing a shiver to roll through me. My skin prickles, goosebumps rising on my arms.

“No burn,” I say through a suddenly dry throat. “See, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Marco’s voice is low, and when he raises his head, there’s a look in his eyes. My own eyes must reflect that same look as I stare at him now, holding my breath, waiting.

The room seems to shrink around us, and my throat feels too tight.

“Ariel.” The name is a question on his lips.

“Yes?”

In a heartbeat, he’s on me, cupping my jaw softly and pulling me into a kiss. I fall into the kiss willingly, slotting my lips into his. His mouth is light with air and emotion, asking and promising, teasing my senses.

But that’s not what I want…

I press harder against him, turning the kiss from light to dark in seconds. My mouth is demanding, insistent, and I’m afraid I’ve startled him when he freezes. My body shudders with relief when, a moment later, he takes my cue.

I’m suddenly lifted, and Marco drops into the couch, dropping me down astride his thighs. I can feel the hard ridge of his growing erection pressed against my wet panties.

“Hmm,” I moan, rolling my hips.

“Fuck,” he groans, grasping my hip with one hand to hold me in place. “If you keep on with that, this isn’t going to last more than a minute.”

I slant my mouth over his again, my tongue tangling against his. When his hands move up my thighs, taking my dress up with them, they feel too gentle. His hand cups my breasts through my dress, thumb sliding over my nipple.

I throw my head back as pleasure curls through me, moisture pooling out of me. Touching myself under someone else’s roof has felt wrong, and so I’ve been living with a daily ache. And having to see Marco every other second hasn’t helped. The opposite, in fact.