Mafia King: A Mafia Royals Novella, Rachel Dyken [i am malala young readers edition .txt] 📗

I see it. I see you.” My breath hitched. My heart pounded against my chest. “And I don’t like that look.” He paused and leaned forward, his muscled forearms resting against the white tablecloth, his tanned skin glowing in the candlelight. “And I’d die for you, yes, because you’re my job.” I deflated immediately. “But also because this world would be a very sad place without Satan’s mistress in it.”

I choked on my laugh. “Nice.”

“I thought so.” He winked. “At least, you’re smiling again.”

I swallowed back the feminine squeak threatening to burst from my lips and said, “I smile.”

“Sometimes,” he said cryptically, his lips pressed into a knowing smile that had me shifting in my chair. “So…” He pulled up the large, red menu again. “Do you know what you want?”

“Hamburger,” I said without even looking at the menu. “And fries. All the fries. Extra pickles. And I’d probably choke you for a taco.”

He shot me a stunned expression. “You’re in a super-expensive Italian restaurant, and you’re thinking about choking me for a taco? Who are you?”

I beamed. “Expensive restaurants never give enough food. I’ll order lasagna and end up eating seven plates of it before I’m full. But when you order American food at an Italian restaurant, it’s almost like they remember how big we like our serving sizes.”

He started to laugh. It was gorgeous on him. He was gorgeous. Focus, Kartini, focus. “I oddly get that.” My fingers itched to grab the napkin and drop it. After a few seconds, he rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, drop the damn napkin.”

“YAY!” I grabbed it and threw it onto the floor with glee. Best part of my night so far; well, that and the small dimple on the right side of Tank’s cheek.

Why did he have to be so damn sexy?

Why did his hair have to have this natural wave to it that looked too perfect to be real?

Marcus came power-walking over. “Have you decided?”

“More champagne.” I grinned. “And I’d like a burger, fries, and the calamari.”

“With a stroke on the side,” Tank added, grinning up at me. “Actually, I’ll have the same thing, but can we get a cannoli, too?”

Marcus wrote it all down. “Great choices.”

When he left, Tank leaned in. “If I end up in the hospital with a stomachache and an inability to digest, I blame you.”

“Aww, poor baby, just hydrate. You’ll be fine.” I winked. “Besides, the alcohol will help digestion. It’s science.”

He barked out a laugh. “Um, no, actually it’s not. But it’s cute that you think so.”

“I’m cute.” I winked.

He choked on his sip of champagne. “Maybe cute’s too tame of a word.”

“Feisty?”

He tapped his glass against mine. “Better.”

We ate and talked the entire time.

I couldn’t remember having a better dinner.

And it helped me forget.

He helped me forget.

Like he knew I needed to get out of the hotel room, needed to feel normal even though he had no clue why I didn’t.

We were both a little tipsy as we walked back to the suite, and I loved that every time I stumbled into him, his arm moved a little bit more around me, keeping me close to him—keeping me safe.

I gave him a sloppy shrug once we were close to the shore and our room, then yelled, “Tag, you’re it!”

Adrenaline propelled me toward the water.

And the need for someone to chase me—to catch me—sobered me up.

He stumbled across the sand in an effort to grab me as I peeled my cocktail dress over my naked body and went diving into the ocean. The warm waves had covered me by the time he chased after me, already pulling his shirt over his massive chest and gorgeous, lickable eight-pack.

“Wanna swim?” I called as normally as I could when staring at male perfection and that gorgeous body.

“Like I have a choice!” he yelled right back, throwing his shoes into the sand and shrugging out of his pants with jerky movements that had me hypnotized.

I told myself I wouldn’t look.

But the champagne said it was an excellent idea as he dropped his briefs and gave me a scalding smirk that basically said: “Look your fill.”

And I was rewarded because, apparently, every inch of him was huge.

And there were a lot of…inches.

I licked my salty lips and waited for him to dive in.

I wondered how he tasted.

I wondered if he’d push me away or let me sink my mouth onto him with wild abandon.

And then I wondered how tipsy I really was for even thinking about asking him if I could put my mouth on every hot inch of his body.

“See, aren’t you so happy you agreed to skinny-dip?” I grinned once he broke the surface in typical Tank fashion—with a gorgeous scowl on his lips and intense eye contact that made me want to flick him on the nose and dive back under the water.

God, his stares were punishing.

Punish. Me.

My body pounded.

My pulse raced.

I ached.

He jerked me against him. “Sometimes, I think you have a death wish.” His green eyes flashed. “We’re both way beyond buzzed, in an ocean, with predators—”

“Meh, I only see one predator.”

Another wave crashed, sending me into his naked arms.

He was so big.

So warm.

I shivered and then wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling the steely rod of his length pressed against me.

His eyes briefly closed as his jaw flexed. “You trying to get me killed?”

“Oh, please, my dad can’t shoot this far in the dark.”

“Yes, let’s test that theory,” he ground out.

“Well, your ass was pretty white.” I nodded. “And your dick, well, I was a lady and didn’t look but—”

“Bullshit.” He laughed. “You were the opposite of good eye contact, more like, oh look, a penis, let’s stare at it and see if it grows.”

“Well, I mean…water makes everything grow…right?” I countered.

“Not cold water.” His smile was everything I craved, everything that made me forget that I was sad, a bit lost, and broken. His smile, just like tonight, was magic.

“Didn’t seem to matter to me.” I shrugged, wrapping my arms