GABRIEL
"Va bene," I say into the phone. "A doppo. Bacio. Ciao."
I quickly hang up the call with my sister. Sometimes, we talk in Italian. Not for any nefarious reason, but because she's teaching her daughter the language.
Over coffee on the terrace, I should've been thinking about the Commission meeting later today—that's what we've informally dubbed the gathering of all three top bosses in Florida—when my sister called to tell me that her daughter was invited to her first sleepover. I'm distracted from that milestone and from work because something sparkles in the sunlight near the house.
It's Riley, and her loose, long hair. She saunters toward me, the sunshine bathing her in a near-divine glow. She's wearing what looks like a long shirt, or beach cover-up thing, and it's flowy and see-through, allowing me an eyeful of her curves. The shirt stops at the top of her thighs, and my gaze is drawn to her long, smooth legs.
I ease the sunglasses off my face and grin. Fuck, she is even more beautiful in the light of day. I stand up and pull out a chair as she approaches.
"Good morning, Ms. Murphy," I say as she sits.
"Good morning, Mr. Greco." She's playing along, and I like that.
I sit next to her and we lock eyes. She opens and closes her mouth. I start to say something, and she also does, at the same time. We both chuckle.
"Coffee?" I ask.
"Yes, please."
As I pour her a cup, I ask, "How did you sleep?"
A flush of pink creeps across the tops of her cheeks and she traces her collarbone. I'm reminded of her breathy moans through the door and how she cried out my name. I'm sure she's recalling that moment, too. Her eyes flicker to mine, then to the coffee. We simultaneously shift in our seats.
"Surprisingly well, considering everything."
"I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am for my bodyguard's behavior. I didn't mean for things to start on such a bad note with us."
She snickers. "I didn't realize that's what they called kidnapping these days. A bad note."
"You're really going all-in on the kidnapping narrative, aren't you?" Riley is fun to banter with.
"Tomato, tomahto; potato, potahto. Kidnapping, a forceful discussion between two strangers. We've moved past all that, though, haven't we?" She eyes me seductively, her gaze lingering on my lips.
I lick the corner of my mouth. "Yes, we have. I trust that you saw today's schedule?"
"I did, and I appreciate it. Definitely gives me an insight into your, uh, character. I'll need a few things, though."
"Like?"
"A notebook. Pens."
"Of course. In fact"—I pause, and reach for a thick manila folder containing two legal pads and four pens—"I have them right here. Anything else? Breakfast? Was the fruit enough?"
She pauses to take the folder from me, and there's a spark when our fingers collide. It doesn't seem to register for her, because she simply opens the large envelope and peers in.
"The fruit was enough, thank you. I don't need anything else." Her stare challenges and excites me. She does need something else, but I suspect she'd never admit it aloud.
I sip my coffee. She looks so beautiful against the tropical flowers, as if she's in bloom.
"How much time will I be able to spend with you today? If I'm going to write an article, I'd like to see you in different positions and scenarios."
"Different positions?" I cock an eyebrow.
Her gaze narrows, as if to say, get your mind out of the gutter. "You know exactly what I mean."
"You can accompany me to everything except my afternoon business meeting."
"Oh, yeah? Who are you meeting with? Is the meeting here?"
I study her pretty face. "You're going to ask a lot of questions, aren't you?"
"That's kinda my job."
Of course I can't tell her about the Commission. It's a quick meeting today, here in Tampa. I'll be meeting with Donnie Trafficante, who's in charge of Jacksonville and north Florida, and Alessandro Bianchi, who oversees south Florida. I'm sure they want to know if this Doyle situation is going to cause us any headaches.
"The meeting is at a hotel here in the city, with some business associates. I assume you can rest during that time, or find something to keep you busy while I'm gone." I imagine her doing exactly what she did last night, and my dick pulses to life. "Feel free to enjoy anything you'd like."
Her gaze lingers on the glittering blue water of the infinity pool. Is that envy in her eyes? Or contempt? I can't tell, but it's not the usual reaction I get from the few strangers who come to my home.
"Perhaps I will," she says slowly. "It's been a while since I've lounged by a pool."
"Make sure you don't get sunburned." She fixes a withering stare on me, and her eyes are filled with a million levels of badass. "I keep sunscreen in the cabana over there. If you'd like, I can—"
She fixes another withering stare on me, and interrupts, "Dude."
I laugh and laugh, because I have a feeling that she's going to be incredible in bed.
***
RILEY
I'm sitting here trying to play it cool, but inside I am very much not cool. Not at all. Quite the opposite, much to my embarrassment. For starters, it's hot as balls out here, even though it's close to nine in the morning. Even though I'm barely wearing any real clothing, I'm sweating. And my face feels like it's burst into flames, probably because Gabriel keeps shooting me knowing glances with those dark eyes of his.
As if he's recalling every second of our kiss.
As if he knows what I did last night after that kiss.
A horrifying thought comes to mind, and I blurt it without thinking, without immediately recalling that I searched for a surveillance device in my room and found nothing. "Do you have cameras?"
His dark brows knit together. "Like, for taking pictures? I'm not much of a photographer, but I think I have one around here somewhere. Why? Do you need one? Is it for your article? Won't the paper assign a photographer for your story?"
"No, silly. Surveillance cameras."
His frown doesn't fade. "Well, sure, I have cameras around the perimeter and at the door, for security. Everyone around here does. You never know who might be a criminal."
Oh, that's rich. A snort leaks out of my nose. "No, indoors, silly. Do you have cameras inside the room, so you can spy on your guests?"
He tips his head back and laughs for several seconds, a sound so wonderful that I want to smile but maintain my scowl for appearances' sake. "Riley, what kind of monster do you think I am?"
I know what kind of monster he is, and it terrifies me. He's a criminal, and possibly the worst kind: one who moves seamlessly between the lawless underworld and polite society.
This fact also turns me on, but I'm trying to shove those thoughts aside. "You probably keep cameras in the guest rooms so you can blackmail people. Get money out of them. Do your bidding."
Or worse, he gets off by watching.
He clears his throat and looks around. It's obvious that he's trying not to laugh more.
"Okay, let's unpack this. I don't surveil people who stay here. I don't video them, take photos, or keep records. Not because I haven't thought of it—I'll admit that I have, it would be quite helpful when dealing with some politicians, and probably lucrative—but because I rarely have anyone stay overnight in my home who isn't family."
"Really? How come?"
He shrugs. "I like my privacy. My sister and her family are always welcome, and I love having them here. My mom, a cousin or two from New York, a few distant family members from Italy. They all stay occasionally when they're in town, and I love having them. But other people? Not so much."
His face contorts like he's smelled something foul.
"Hmph." I'm unconvinced. Because I'm here. Why am I here?
"Riley, the bigger question is, why are you asking? What have you been doing in your room? Why would you think I'd want to see what you're doing in there?"
He licks his lips in a slow, sensual manner, and then raises the coffee cup to his mouth, all without taking his gaze off me. My face feels like it's going to burst into flames. Damn him.
"Wouldn't you like to find out?" I'm not usually a flirt, but something about Gabriel and his teasing makes me want to be more coy than Megan Fox.
"Actually, I very much would like to know how you spend your time alone. I suspect that it's quite interesting." His voice is low and gruff, and I practically stop breathing. A trickle of sweat runs down the back of my neck, and my biggest wish is to burrow into a glacier and never come out.
"I'm doing the interviewing here." I sit up a little straighter.
"Not so fast. I have a question about Doyle that I neglected to ask you last night. I got sidetracked. Someone sidetracked me."
I watch as he takes a biscotti between his thick, long fingers. All through the night, I thought about his hands. Fantasized about them doing wicked things to every part of my body.
Shaking my head to get the filthy fantasies out of my head, I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "What's that?"
He takes a slow bite of his moistened biscotti and chews slowly, then swallows. "The unnamed inmate in your article that mentioned me. Who was that?"
I bite my lip. Unlike Doyle's stripper girlfriend, the inmate only spoke to me, and I swore I'd keep his identity a secret. "Can't tell you."
"How come? We're friends, aren't we?" Gabriel purrs. Oh, he is turning on the charm.
"I promised him that he'd stay anonymous. I don't screw over my sources."
"I see there's honor among thieves and reporters."
A chill goes through me. The inmate was serving five-to-seven in state prison for grand theft. I'd traveled an hour to interview him. Did Gabriel know who I'd talked to? Or did he really not know.
"Those are the rules, Gabriel."
"You make the rules?" His dark eyes glitter, as if he's relishing a challenge.
"In this case, yes."
He nods slowly and smirks, looking more devilish than ever. Dammit, is that a dimple? "I'll let you take charge. For now. Listen, it's nine, and I need to get into the gym. Are you coming?"
"To the gym? With you?" I blink. The last time I was in the gym was... I can't remember.
He stands, grinning. "I thought you wanted to shadow me for your article?"
I down my coffee. This man is clearly on some sort of power trip, and I can't get tangled and twisted in his web. He seems to enjoy teasing me, and I can't decide if it's out of sport or something more carnal.
Probably out of sport. That kiss last night was likely some perverse game. For his amusement. To test me. But his desire seemed genuine, which is why I'm so confused by him.
"Let's do it," I chirp, hiding my reluctance.