When He Desires: A Dark Mafia Romance (Fallen God Book 1)

Sandro sighs.

“What?”

“I thought we agreed you’d take it easy with the women. Just today, I had two appointment cancellations. And one of them told me point-blank it’s because of what happened with Abigail and you.” Sandro paces the length of my living room. “Now you’re dragging me to some new girl’s house, where I’m supposed to do what? Be your wingman? It’s like you don’t listen to a word I say.”

I grab my keys and head toward the door. “You don’t need to do anything. I didn’t want to ditch you, so I told her you’re coming along. I thought you’d appreciate the gesture. Instead, you’re giving me an earful.”

“Hey, don’t try to turn the tables on me. Are you trying to hook up with this girl tonight? Yes or no?”

Great question. Truth is, I’m a bit confused. I thought Blake and I left things on decent enough terms the night of the blizzard, but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting her to invite me over.

She showed up at my doorstep without her coat on. I’d never seen her so excited. And when she thought I’d already made plans with another woman, her excitement dimmed.

So, yeah. I’m no mind reader, but I’m fairly certain she wants me. And I’m planning on testing that theory tonight. “We’ll see.”

Sandro pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look, if it happens, she’s not going to want anyone to know. If I won’t tell, and she won’t tell, what’s the harm?” There’s an unexpected prickle of unease. Something about Blake wanting to keep me a secret if anything does happen between us doesn’t sit all that well with me.

Hmm.

“Uh-huh. They always tell. You’re like a Pokémon every single woman in town wants to collect and brag about.”

We step outside. “I’m telling you, she’s different. It’s that waitress from Frostbite.”

“Which one?” His voice drops to a whisper as we cross my front lawn in the direction of Blake’s house. “Don’t tell me it’s that blond who’s never given you the time of day.”

“That’s her.”

Sandro’s jaw drops.

I grin and knock on her door. The lock turns, and Blake appears clad in a baby-blue off-the-shoulder dress that matches the color of her eyes.

I take in every detail. She has her hair curled into soft waves, a bit of makeup on her face, and a shiny gloss on her lips. There’s a light-brown freckle on her cheek in the shape of a heart that I didn’t notice before. Her blond hair, pure glistening silk, is pulled back into a high ponytail that would look great coiled around my fist.

When I drop my gaze to her bare legs, I have to bite back a groan. She looks good enough to eat.

Her smile is wide and unguarded. “Hi. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving. This is my business partner, Sam.”

She greets Sandro and takes a step backward. “Come in.”

We file into the narrow entryway. She takes Sandro’s coat before glancing over at me. I’m not wearing one since it’s only about twenty steps from my house to hers. Her gaze slides over the navy-blue flannel shirt I have on. Something in the way her eyes flare tells me she likes what she sees.

She smooths her hands over her dress. “Thanks for coming.”

“You look great.” She’ll look even better with nothing on. Hopefully, I’ll get to tell her that tonight.

She tucks a strand behind her ear. “Thank you.”

“You’ve got a great place,” Sandro calls out from somewhere inside. “I love your record player.”

She walks in the direction of his voice. I’m right behind her, close enough to take in her scent.

That damn vanilla makes my cock twitch.

The living room is small but cheery, with vintage furniture, lots of plants, and a brick fireplace. To the right of the fireplace is a huge built-in bookshelf—the books meticulously sorted by color.

“You read a lot?”

She seems a bit shy as she shoots me a look. “Yeah. Tons.”

The image of her curled up in the small window nook makes something warm spark inside my chest. She’s fucking adorable.

Blake leads us into the adjacent dining room. There are appetizers already on the table—olives, cheese and crackers, and some cold cuts. Sandro zeroes in on them immediately. The kid eats like a horse.

“I brought some wine.” I hand Blake the bottle.

She turns it in her hand and reads the label. “Chianti, 1995. Produced in Tuscany, Italy.” She glances at me. “This is fancy.”

“Nothing but the best for you.”

She gives me a funny look. “Thanks. If you want to crack that open while I finish up in the kitchen, that would be great. The bottle opener is right here. You two must be hungry.”

“I’ll come help you.” I give Sandro a discreet wink, to which he responds with an eye roll.

In the small kitchen, Blake turns toward me. “There’s not much to help with.”

“It’s not polite to leave the chef alone to do all the work.”

“Did your nonna teach you that?” She walks over to the stove and checks on one of the steaming pots. She takes a wooden spoon and stirs whatever is inside twice.

I stop right behind her. She’s so fucking tiny compared to me, her head only reaching my mid-chest. “She wanted to make sure her grandson was well-mannered.”

The second she realizes how close I’m standing to her, her back stiffens. She stirs the pot once more and then slips around me and moves to the fridge. “Doesn’t seem like she succeeded.”

I lean back against the counter and grin. “I can be very well-mannered when I feel like it.”

“Ah.” She shuts the fridge, holding a bowl of tomatoes in one hand. “Then one day, you may still surprise me.” She blows an errant blond strand out of her face. “I need to finish cutting some veggies for the salad. How are you with a knife?”

“I’m good with my hands.”

She wraps her lips around her teeth to hide her smile from me. “Of course you are. If I asked you to try the gravy, would you say something equally ridiculous, like you’re good with your mouth?”

I laugh at the way she drops her voice to mimic mine. “How did you manage to read my mind? By the way, both of those statements are true.”

She gives me a cutting board and a sharp knife, a smile tugging on her lips. “You take the cucumbers, and I’ll do the tomatoes. Your mind is quite easy to read.”

We stand side by side, her cutting board a few inches from mine. “Oh yeah? Am I really that simple?”

Her knife work isn’t bad, but mine’s slightly better. It comes with years of practice. Cutting off a finger or a tongue is not as easy as one might expect.

My elbow brushes against hers. She blows at the strand of hair again. “You’re not as simple as you want people to think, but not as complicated as you think you are.”

The observation is unexpected. I turn it over once, twice, decide it’s nonsense, and huff a laugh. “So you think you’ve got me all figured out.”

“Not entirely. But I’m making progress.”

I put my knife down and wipe my hands on a towel. The strand keeps slipping, getting in front of her eye.

“All right. Tell me what I’m thinking about now.”

She glances at me, taking a moment to answer. “That I’m a bad host for psychoanalyzing you?”

I lift my hand and tuck the strand away, the tips of my fingers brushing against the shell of her ear.

Her breath hitches. Her knife slows and then stops completely.

I press my index finger against her jaw and guide her to face me. “No, Sunshine. Right now, I’m thinking about doing this.” My palm slides around the back of her neck, and I lower my head and press my lips to hers.

The moment we make contact, I know something’s different.

Electricity surges just beneath my skin, like a power grid coming back online after a blackout. My skin tightens. My heart picks up speed.

I’m buzzing. Does she feel it too?

I can’t tell.

She’s stock-still, letting me nip on her lips, letting me curl my hands over her hips. A gasp comes out of her when my fingers dig into her flesh through the fabric of her dress.

It’s the soft graze of my teeth over her bottom lip that does it. She opens up for me, allowing my tongue to swipe against hers.

Fuck, she tastes like a chilled glass of wine on a hot summer day.

A low groan vibrates inside my chest.

I can already tell she’s the kind of woman who’ll test my patience by wanting to take it slow. But I don’t mind. After all, the chase can be as thrilling as the kill.

CLANK.

We break apart at the sound, and my gaze falls to the knife she dropped on the floor. She turns and anchors her palms against the counter, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

My own breathing is just as uneven.

That was only a kiss. What will it feel like to sink inside of her?

I’m hard as fuck. Why did I bring Sandro with me again?

“Rowan,” she whispers. “Why did you do that?”

I pick up the knife and place it on the counter.

“Because I wanted to.” And I want to do it again.

Her eyes are wide and stunned. “You can’t.”

I reach for her cheek. “Why not?”

She jerks away from me, not letting me touch her.

A flicker of worry appears in me. What is she thinking? I can’t read her.

There’s a slight tremble in her hands as she busies herself with transferring the tomatoes into the salad bowl. “Take this to the dining table, please.” She practically shoves the thing at my chest, but when our fingers brush, sparks explode over my skin.

She lets out a heavy breath, but she won’t meet my gaze, like she’s determined to ignore our insane chemistry.

Oh, Sunshine. This is happening. Maybe not tonight, but soon enough. This kind of attraction doesn’t just go away on its own. It has to be expunged, preferably over the course of many long nights between the sheets.

I float back into the dining room where Sandro’s sipping wine over a pillaged plate of cold cuts. He arches a brow. “That look on your face is making me seriously uncomfortable. Dare I ask?”

“Be quiet.” I place the bowl on the table and take a seat so that Sandro won’t notice the bulge in my jeans.

He snorts into his glass.

A minute later, Blake comes in carrying the giant turkey. I take the tray off her hands and put it in the center of the table.

She hands me the knife, still refusing to meet my eye. “Will you do the honors?”

“Sure.” I cut the bird and serve her and Sandro before putting some on my own plate.

Blake lifts her wineglass and clears her throat. “Thanks for coming, guys. I don’t have any family in town, so my original plan was to get a Thanksgiving dinner for one from the grocery store. My friend who lives in San Francisco told me that’s just sad.”

Sandro laughs. “We’re honored you thought we were a better alternative.”

“Yes, well, I have something to celebrate today beyond just the holiday.”

Oh? Wonder what that could be. It’s not her birthday. Maybe she found another job?

Sandro grins. “What are you celebrating?”

Blake tips her chin up, her nostrils flaring on an inhale. “Today, I got an offer on my house. I’m leaving Darkwater Hollow.”

A record that’s been playing “Make It Wit Chu” in my head ever since the kiss grinds to a sharp halt.

Wait, what?

What the fuck?

“You’re…leaving?” My shock is loud and clear, but I don’t give a fuck.

Her eyes snap to mine. “Yes. I’m leaving.”

“When?”

“The realtor said it should move quickly. Two weeks at most.”

Two weeks? Two fucking weeks?

Okay, I can still have her in two weeks. I mean, she’s halfway there already. She invited me over, which mea—

Hold on.

She didn’t invite me because she suddenly realized she wants to sleep with me. By the sounds of it, she invited me because she didn’t have anyone else to invite.

I was…her last resort.

Can’t say that’s a position I’m used to being in.

So when she said I shouldn’t have kissed her, she meant it? She actually meant it?

My heart pounds out a disappointed rhythm against my rib cage. I take a long—very long—pull of my wine. It tastes sour. It’s not supposed to taste fucking sour, but it does compared to her.

“How come you’re moving?” Sandro asks, oblivious. “It’s a nice place.”

Blake sinks her fork into a piece of tomato. “It’s not the house.” She’s silent for a moment, like she’s carefully choosing her next words. “I had a bad breakup earlier this year, and I still work for my ex and there aren’t a lot of job opportunities in Darkwater Hollow. I just want to get out of this town and start over somewhere else.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Have you even tried looking for something else here?”

“No. There’s really no point,” she says sullenly.

“Moving away over a breakup seems extreme.”

Her gaze hardens. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

Sandro coughs. “I’m sure you’re making the right choi—“

“Where are you moving to?” I demand.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Now, I’m incredulous. “You’re leaving in two weeks, and you don’t know where you’re going?”

Her fingers tighten around her knife. “Not yet. I’ll figure it out. I’m sure wherever I pick will be an upgrade.”

“Wow. You must really hate Darkwater Hollow,” I grind out.

The light above the table flickers like it’s picking up on the tension crackling through the air.

“I don’t hate Darkwater Hollow. There was a time when I saw myself staying here forever.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve always had this dream of opening my own little bookstore somewhere in town, but over the last few months I’ve realized it’s better to start over somewhere new.”

I huff a sardonic laugh. “Starting over isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, trust me on that one.”

She arches a brow. “Do you hate Darkwater Hollow?”

“I like the nature. But the people are another matter. Some of them get on my nerves, you know?”

Her eyes narrow. “I know exactly what you mean. There are a lot of rude folk around these parts.”

“Let’s compare notes. I think it’s pretty rude to send mixed sig—“

“The turkey is delicious!”

Our heads snap toward Sandro.

He’s giving us a what-the-ever-loving-fuck kind of look. “Would it be rude to ask for seconds?”

“Not at all,” Blake clips out. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Have as much as you’d like.”

My chair skids against the floor. “I need to use the bathroom.” I feel like I might punch a wall. I don’t even understand why I’m so angry.

She shoots daggers at me. “It’s through the living room and down the hall. First door on the right.”

In the bathroom, I lock the door behind me and get halfway to slamming my fists against the damned thing before I stop myself.

A growl escapes past my clenched teeth.

What. The. Fuck.

Okay, maybe she didn’t invite me tonight because she wanted to hook up with me, but she kissed me back. She might be in denial about our attraction, but her body doesn’t lie. There’s something here. Something powerful.

If she wasn’t fleeing this town because of her ex—fuck, I hate that guy—I would have broken her down eventually.

I don’t want her to leave. I haven’t given a shit about anything for the last four months, but I give a shit about this.

That kiss made me feel just a little bit alive after I’ve spent months feeling like a dead man walking.

And let’s just rewind to the part where she has no plan. Is she crazy? A girl like her, alone and somewhere unfamiliar? She’s asking to get robbed, raped, or worse.

Inside me, something dark begins to stir.

My reflection glowers at me, and I don’t recognize him. I’m wearing fucking flannel, for God’s sake. If the guys back home saw me, they’d laugh me out of the room.

Nero wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this shit.

And Nero wouldn’t let that girl go. Because Nero was willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

I rake my fingers through my hair. I feel fucking impotent. Powerless.

And I hate it. So damn much.

Make her stay, Nero commands.

Let her go. She’s just a girl, Rowan pleads.

I slip my hand inside my pocket and reach for the cufflinks.

Yeah, she’s just a girl. But she’s also something more. Something I desire the way I haven’t desired anything since I got to this shithole.

That’s when it hits me.

I can’t let her leave.

And if I have to do a bad thing to keep her here, so be it.

Nero laughs, eager to come out and play.

I walk out of the bathroom. It takes one look at her fireplace for the idea to come to me—so elegant and simple.

As I move back inside the dining room, I make a show of rubbing my arms. “It’s a bit cold in here. Mind if I start a fire?”