Page 53 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

Kingston stands near the windows, a lowball glass in hand, the amber glow of whiskey catching the light. He’s in a tailored suit and a starched white shirt, diamond cuff links peeking out from under his jacket sleeves. No tie. So damn sexy, like he’s telling the world to fuck off, that he won’t conform to the societal expectations of a black-tie event.

The top two shirt buttons are undone, enough to make him look powerful, polished, with a subtle edge of danger.

His head turns at the sound of my high heels on the polished floor, and his eyes land on me.

My heartbeat goes haywire as his thoughtful expression falters ever so slightly.

The glass pauses halfway to his lips. His gaze moves from my pinned-up hair to the curve of my breasts and all the way down to my strappy sandals.

He just stares and a hateful rush of tingles blazes under my skin.

After a beat, he sets the glass on a side table and prowls toward me. A possessive hand slides around my waist and he pulls me flush against his chest. His other hand brushes across my jaw, his fingertips grazing the bare skin behind my ear.

His mouth lowers until his breath caresses the side of my face.

“The dress was a mistake,” he murmurs, voice thick and deep. “Because all I want to do is tear it apart at the seams and devour what’s underneath it.”

My breath hitches, but I do my best to recover as quickly as possible.

“Typical Viacava. You drop five figures on a gown and threaten to destroy it before I even step outside?” I whisper, tone dry even though my pulse pounds. “You have more money than sense.”

His thumb drags over my hip bone as he offers me a dirty laugh. “Can’t a husband treat his beautiful wife to a fancy gown or better—licking her wet pussy before they head out?”

“Your wife’s pussy is satisfied, thanks very much.” I grin. “I saw to that myself in the bathroom earlier.”

Kingston laughs. “Bet you wished it was my dick and not a boring vibrator.”

“Oh, it definitely wasn’t boring. And I was able to stuff it back in the drawer without having to humor it afterward.”

“I have something else for you, Livvie.”

I blink, thrown by his tone, almost thoughtful. He pulls out a small velvet box from inside his jacket pocket.

“Oh yeah?” I say, wary but intrigued. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you.”

Kingston opens the box and holds it out, revealing a delicate necklace made from gold, and hanging from it, a single musical note encrusted with tiny diamonds. The pendant isn’t gaudy or flashy. Just… perfect.

The gems catch the light like starlight and punch a low blow to my gut. My breath stalls. “You bought me jewelry?”

“I had it made for you.” His voice is low, serious. “Figured my wife should have thingsthat make her smile.”

“Wow,” I murmur, my throat suddenly dry. “Romantic.”

He doesn’t rise to the sarcasm. Instead, he steps forward, plucks the necklace from the box, and reaches for me.

The chain slips around my throat, and when his fingers brush the back of my neck, I go still. Every nerve in my body draws tight like violin strings. He secures the clasp, then presses a kiss to my temple. The kind that shouldn’t mean anything.

But it does.

Itsodoes.

When he steps back, his gaze lingers on me. Not on the necklace. Not on my lips or legs or any of the places men usually look.

Onme.

And it’s too much.

So I smirk, dragging my fingers across the delicate pendant like I don’t care that my heart’s suddenly forgotten how to beat in rhythm.