Transgressions, Carolyn Faulkner [black female authors .txt] 📗

of them outright as being much too extravagant. Some of them were a little over the top, but most of them were blatant attempts to take care of her in small ways, which scored big points in her book.

He sent a huge bouquet of lavender roses to her office the next day, and then, about once a week, sometimes more often, he sent her something else to remind her that he was still out there, that he still wanted her, and that he wouldn't wait forever for her to come to him—as unromantic as it sounded, he'd said as much as that in the note he'd included with a very sexy set of matching bra and panties he would love to see her in They consisted of a pair of antique white lacy cheeky panties, and he salivated every time he thought of her in them, along with a demi bra of the same color as well as a few touches of black lace around the edges. She was well endowed enough that she didn't need a push up bra, but he knew it would look spectacular on her—at least until he decided to peel it off.

But not all of his gifts were sexual in nature. He knew what breakfast she liked to order from a particular restaurant that he also knew she didn't get to very often anymore, so he contacted the owner and had it delivered to her just about the time he knew she got to the office in the morning.

He'd found out when she had an opening in her schedule and made an appointment for himself, but sent a masseuse over, instead.

One day, she opened her front door to find a fluffy white Maine Coon cat in a basket on her doorstep with a note that let her know that she was a rescue from the local Humane Society and her name was Angel.

So much for the ruthless mob boss persona, Ally'd thought as she'd rubbed her face against the kitten's soft fur.

A week or so after the kitten had come into her life, she found him waiting for her at her car when she left the office for the day, leaning against the driver's side door.

"You know you really should have someone doing your driving for you nowadays," he suggested, his tone letting her know that it wasn't a suggestion.

"I don't care. I like to drive. It gives me time to think," she informed him, already futzing with her keys to find the right one.

To make a point, Enzo caught the wrist in which she had the keys and hauled her up against him roughly. "You'd be dead right now if I had nefarious intentions, Allegra."

Ally merely arched an eyebrow at him with a small smile on her face. "Aren't all of your intentions nefarious, Enzo?"

Instead of answering her, he stepped back and relieved her of her briefcase. "Let me take that for you." He stowed it in back then guided her to the other side of the car with an insistent hand at the small of her back and opened the passenger's door for her. Sighing and knowing there was little she was going to do to dissuade him, Ally smirked as she took her seat. "I have a distinct memory of locking my car this morning."

He had the grace to blush a bit, but, after moving her seat back to accommodate his long legs, he joined her in the car and held out his hand to her. "And I'm sure you did. It would be the prudent thing to do." he replied smoothly, holding his hand out to her.

"What's the matter? Can't you start it without the key?" she asked pointedly.

"I'm sure I could hot wire it in a matter of minutes, but I'd rather spend the time with you, since the keys are in your hand."

Ally's grip on them tightened compulsively and she hesitated about giving them to him. "Why are you here?"

"I thought I'd take you out to dinner, maybe some dancing?"

At first, she wasn't sure whether or not he was joking, but Enzo rarely joked. She hadn't done either of those things in more time than she wanted to consider, but she wasn't at all sure she should do them with him. She certainly wanted to, but unfortunately, there were other considerations—other important considerations.

But how long had it been since she'd gone dancing? And, as she could remember from the various obligatory social functions they had both attended—although not together, obviously—Enzo was a wonderful dancer.

How would it feel to be held in those strong arms during a slow dance? The idea sent a shiver down her spine, partly because she knew where dancing might lead them at the end of the evening—if she allowed it. She already knew how those hands, those fingers, those lips could devastate her, driving her to the brink of desire and holding her there for as long as he wanted, and there was precious little she could do about it.

She ought to say no. She ought to turn him down flat. They could not become involved in a relationship. It just wasn't done. He had his business, and she had hers, and never the blah, blah, blah.

She shouldn't have let herself look up at him. His eyes were compellingly blue, stark and sharp, not asking but not quite telling—yet—either. She knew that if she got involved with him—especially having found out that he liked to spank—there was every possibility that he was going to begin to forgo asking entirely, and she wasn't at all sure she'd like that idea, despite the fact that the mere thought had her lower body spasming pleasurably.

For once, and probably at the worst time, she gave in and did what she wanted to do, rather than what was good for her, and she hoped she wouldn't regret her decision to throw caution to the wind and deepen her involvement with this very sexy, very dangerous man.

He was—almost—a perfect gentleman all