Craving Carlo (The Adamos Book 3)

by Mia Madison

  As the pleasure ebbs slowly away, it’s replaced by a different kind of shock. I can’t believe I did that. At work. With a man I don’t even know. I shove against his chest and he lowers me to the ground.

  Meeting his eyes is difficult but I make myself do it. He’s watching me with a look on his face that I can’t interpret, but when one hand lifts toward me, I jerk back the quarter-inch of space I have available, and he stops.

  “Stay away from me.” It comes out a harsh rasp, as if all that erotic energy charred my vocal cords.

  His eyes narrow. That’s better — pissed I can deal with. Until he says, “The fuck I will.”

  4

  Not What I See

  My head is going to explode any second now. “You think I do that kind of thing all the time?” I hiss.

  “You think I do?” he retorts. It snaps my head back. “You gave me a taste of your fire, doll. Hell no, I’m not walking away.”

  “I’m not giving you a choice,” I explain through clenched teeth.

  “I can see you’re upset,” he says, apparently ready to switch into reasonable-man mode. As if.

  “You think?” I snap with all the sarcasm I can muster, which is quite a lot. Inside, I’m still shaking like a leaf that this man can obliterate my defenses so easily. I’d much rather be angry.

  A muscle tightens in his jaw. There’s a glint in his eye that makes awareness tingle along my skin, and tightens things low in my belly. “Don’t push me, angel.”

  “Or what?” I retort. I’m know I’m waving a red flag at a bull, but I can’t help it.

  He leans in. “Not gonna show you here. But trust me, you’ll find out.”

  A tremor goes through my whole body at that, and of course he notices. He’s still pissed, but there’s a thread of heat woven through it. “I gotta go. We’ll talk about this when I see you again, which, you should know, is gonna be soon.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Now amusement glitters in his gaze along with everything else. “So long as you come with me. I hear it’s hot. We should be right at home.” He opens the door and with a “Later,” he’s gone.

  I sink to the floor and put my head on my knees. The taste of him is still on my tongue. His scent, something spicy mixed with his potent masculine musk, lingers in the air.

  Now that he’s gone, I wish he were still here. I really have lost my mind. If I soak up the already-fading sensory impressions, and store them deep inside, maybe my body will inoculate me, build some Carlo Adamo antibodies, so next time — and he’s promised there will be a next time — I can resist him.

  “Gina?” Cait says, and I startle back to reality. She’s looking down at me from the doorway, her brown eyes are big with worry. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. No.” I shake my head and climb to my feet. “I’m fine. I’d better get back to work.”

  “We took care of your customers,” she says quietly.

  I have good friends. “Thanks, Cait.” I start down the hall, then look back. “We’ll talk later, okay? Thanks for covering.”

  She nods but doesn’t speak. I wish I could say the magic words to make her feel better. That’s the problem with people in love; they want everyone to have what they have.

  But some of us aren’t meant for happy endings.

  Erin’s worried about me too. By the time they leave, she and Cait between them have glanced at me a hundred times. But they don’t push it, just do their jobs and have my back.

  It’s my turn to close, and I’m glad; I need the time alone to think. I’m still stunned by what happened with Carlo. I’ve never responded like that to a man — not even close. My need to banish him from my existence forever is in a pitched battle with my raging hunger to finish what we started.

  As much as I crave him, I know better. Getting involved with a man like Carlo would be a disaster. I still don’t understand why he had to follow me and get in my face and provoke me into kissing him. If he had any sense at all, he’d leave me alone.

  By the time everything’s done and I lock up, it’s two-thirty in the morning and I’m exhausted. As I step out into the parking lot, I do a reflexive scan of the lot and the street, keeping an eye out for potential bad guys. But that’s not what I see.

  5

  Crazy Knife Guy

  There’s a woman down near the other end of our block, in the shadows between two streetlights, walking back and forth. Not pacing, though. It’s more of a stroll. And she’s wearing a really short dress and platform heels.

  I stand there and watch her for a few moments, because my brain doesn’t want to process what it’s seeing. This is one of the main drags in town, and still has traffic even at this time of night. Traffic is a necessary ingredient, if she’s doing what I think she’s doing; but there’s never been anything this brazen before, not in this part of town.

  None of my business. I should go. Instead, I find myself walking past my car and along the sidewalk until I’m within hailing distance.

  She’s made a turn and is on her way toward me, but stops some distance from this end of her circuit, her arms crossed over her torso, watching me. Her makeup is heavy … but even with all of it caked on, she doesn’t look eighteen.

  “Hi.” I try to sound friendly, but in a neutral, matter-of-fact way. “My name’s Gina. I work in the café there.” I wave an arm in that direction, not taking my eyes off her.

  She tosses her hair — which is long and blonde and so big it looks like it came out of an ‘80s music video — but doesn’t speak. “I, um … are you hungry? We could go in and I could make you something.” Her too-thin body tenses and I hold my hands up and out. “No cops, no tricks. Promise.”

  “Go away.” It comes out a harsh whisper.

  I risk a half-step toward her, unable to make myself leave. “Honey—”

  Her voice is stronger this time, almost a normal volume, and dear god, she sounds horrifyingly young. “Leave or he’ll cut you.”

  “Who will?” It comes out too loudly, my voice harsh with adrenaline, and she flinches at the same time as I hear a scraping on the pavement behind me and turn to see a man coming at me with a knife in his hand.

  “Whoa!” I leap back, dropping my purse down off my shoulder at the same time, the straps falling into my hand, letting me wield it like a crude weapon. Everything goes into slow motion, the light reflecting off the blade as it comes toward me, and then my clumsy two-handed swing hits the back of his hand.

  It doesn’t knock the knife free, and he does a vicious backward swipe that cuts through my straps. The purse thunks to the sidewalk and I take a step back, angling to the side, my body going into some kind of fight-ready stance that is pure instinct. I have no chance against this man and his knife, but knowing that doesn’t matter. What else am I going to do, beg him for mercy?

  Rubber screeches on asphalt as six black SUVs come screaming up to the curb. Black-garbed men leap out and the man with the knife takes off, two of the new arrivals in pursuit. I whip around to see the girl — because she is only a girl — running as fast as she can the other way, another black-clad man rapidly gaining on her.

  Hands touch my shoulders and I jerk free, rounding again with my fists up. But it’s Carlo. Before I can stop him, he yanks me against him and wraps me in a quick, hard hug. “Scared the crap out of me,” he says.

  “What — you — why are you here?” My voice sounds like it belongs to an alien.

  “We were watching the place.”

  “We?”

  “Me and my guys.” I stare at him blankly. “Adamo Investigations,” he says. “Security, private investigations, skip tracing, like that.”

  “You were watching Revved?”

  “Yeah.” He looks me over, like he can’t believe I’m still standing. “That guy is a nutcase. I know you’re a pistol, doll, but using your purse as a weapon?”

  Police cars are joining the SUVs now. “I gotta go deal with the cops. They’ll want to talk to you, but for now wait
here.”

  He steers me over to one of the SUVs, pulls a blanket from the back seat, gets me into the passenger seat, and tucks it around me. I watch him do it. My mind seems to be drifting; it’s having trouble anchoring itself to reality. “It’s summer, Carlo.”

  “Yeah, it is. And you’re shaking.” Oh, crap, I am. “Just sit quiet. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He scoops up my purse from the sidewalk, sets it at my feet, shuts the door with a soft click, and strides away.

  Now that I’m alone with my thoughts, they all come crowding in. There are way too many of them, and none of them are pleasant. By the time Carlo makes it back to me, I’m shivering despite the blanket.

  He swears softly and turns to the officer with him. “She’s in shock. Make it quick.”

  The cop looks from me to Carlo and back again. I can see she wants to ask questions that aren’t about the crazy knife guy, but she just nods, and I manage to answer her queries more or less coherently. At least I think so.

  A few minutes later, she’s done. “Your car still locked?” Carlo asks me. When I nod, he says, “We’ll pick it up tomorrow. Strap in.”

  6

  Steel Beam

  Strap in. Right. Seat belt. I fasten it, he cranks up the heat — which, it strikes a tiny corner of my brain, must be damned uncomfortable for Carlo, seeing as how he’s not cold and shivering — and the SUV takes us into the night. Paying attention to where we’re going is impossible, so I have no idea where we are when he stops the car.

  He’s out of it and around to me before I finish unbuckling. Snagging my purse from the floorboard, he picks me up, blanket and all, pushes the door shut with his foot, and carries me to what looks like a good-sized house, but I can only see a little of it in the dark..

  “I can walk,” I say, but I can barely hear my own voice and he ignores me. Some kind of security mumbo-jumbo happens at a door without him putting me down, and then we’re inside a large space that could almost be the inside of a rustic cabin, except for its size and amenities.

  There’s wood everywhere. Wide plank floors, beams, walls, everything. Richly-woven rugs, large comfortable furniture, all warm and welcoming. I feel like I could curl up here and never leave — if this weren’t Carlo’s place.

  He sets me down sideways in a big recliner. “Be right back.” I huddle in the blanket, trying not to think. When he returns, it’s with a steaming mug the size of a mixing bowl. He sets it on a side table, picks me up, and takes the chair, settling me sideways on his lap, leaning against his chest.

  “Drink this,” he says, offering me the mug.

  “What is it?”

  “Tea. It’ll help relax you.”

  “A macho man has tea?” Even in my detached state of mind, I’m vaguely amused by this.

  “It’s a tool. I use whatever works.”

  The tea smells and tastes delicious, and I drink half of it before my eyelids get heavy. Carlo takes the mug from my hands and sets it aside, and the last thing I’m conscious of is being in his arms.

  I wake to warmth, so much of it that after a moment my still-fuzzy brain upgrades its status to heat. I’m on my side, and gradually I become aware that most of the blaze is pressed against my back, along the full length of my body. It feels wonderful.

  More details filter into my awareness. Something heavy is draped over the front of me, at an angle that leads from my waist down to one breast. And then the heat at my back takes on shape … especially the portion of it that’s pressed into the cleft of my ass.

  My eyes fly open. I’m lying in a bed, spooning with a very large, extremely hot man. His hand is cupping my breast, his erection is prodding my butt, and my core is molten.

  I am in so much trouble. Last night, Carlo blew through my protective shields and took me straight from Defcon 1 to Defcon 3. Being in bed with him, all snuggled up, wanting nothing more than to get even closer, is Defcon 4 or even 5.

  Fortunately — or is that unfortunately — all the tea I drank last night is threatening to burst my bladder. Getting to the bathroom is imperative. It even takes priority over jumping Carlo.

  But I really don’t want to move, much as I need to, so I allow myself a few more precious seconds to soak up his heat, his nearness, his scent, while my eyes rove the room looking for a bathroom door. I don’t see one, just lots more wood, and an open door that leads to a hallway.

  I’ve reached near-emergency status on needing the bathroom, so I move about a hundredth of a centimeter toward the edge of the bed. Carlo’s arm immediately turns into a steel beam holding me tightly against him. Dynamite would not budge those muscles.

  7

  Tell Me Why

  His bedroom voice rumbles against my hair. “Morning.” The vibration travels right down my spine, igniting all the nerve endings it passes on the way, sending sexytime signals throughout my entire body.

  My nipples go hard and my inner muscles clamp down on nothing. I would damn the consequences and wiggle my ass against him if not for the urgent messages coming from my bladder. “Gotta pee,” I croak.

  “No, you don’t.” He hasn’t moved, and for a moment I have the funny feeling that he doesn’t want to end the moment, doesn’t want to stop holding me. It’s a sweet illusion, one I can’t afford.

  “Yeah, I do. I drank about two quarts of tea last night,” I remind him.

  His weight shifts then, but instead of releasing me, he rolls me to my back and props himself up on an elbow, looking down at me. The hand that was curled around my breast is now resting low on my belly. If he moves it down just a little further, the edge of it will graze my clit.

  “Really not kidding about the tea,” I say a little breathlessly. “Or the bathroom.”

  “Okay,” he says after a long moment. “But we gotta talk.”

  Yikes. I was hoping he’d forget about that. Should have known better. “Bathroom first,” I answer, easing sideways, and this time he lets me go. I sit up on the side of the bed, and that’s when I realize I’m wearing nothing but my panties and an oversized t-shirt that must be Carlo’s.

  “How did I get into this?”

  Behind me, Carlo says, “The pajama fairies did it.”

  “You undressed me?” Beneath my embarrassed indignation is a white-hot thread of excitement. I don’t dare turn to look at him, or he’ll know.

  “I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in your work uniform, babe.”

  Babe. The word sends tremors down my spine. Tonio and Kosta say that to Cait and Erin all the time. Now Carlo’s applying it to me — and he called me angel, and doll, last night.

  I should be annoyed, but instead it makes me feel squishy inside. And I cannot afford to feel squishy about a man, any man, even an Adamo man. “Bathroom,” I repeat, and standing up quickly, I aim myself at the door.

  “Down the hall on your right,” Carlo says to my back. I find the room and take care of business. When I finish and open the door again, he’s standing right there, wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans that hug him in all the right places, the top snap undone.

  My muscles lock from me battling the urge to jump him again. The tight abs, the light dusting of hair, the happy trail leading down to where I’m pretty damn sure he is, aptly enough, going commando — all of it is more temptation than any woman should have to face.

  I have to close my eyes, because he’s so beautiful that looking at him hurts. When I open them, I can’t read his expression, but he doesn’t say a word, just takes my hand. I try to tug it away and his grip tightens.

  He leads me out of the bathroom and down a hallway, which jogs around a little corner to a kitchen that’s just as woodsy as the rest of the house, but has top-of-the-line appliances. There’s an island in the middle with stools around it. Carlo puts his hands on my waist and lifts me up onto one.

  Even then, he’s a lot taller than I am, but I could have easily climbed up myself. He probably just wanted to get his hands on me. I think this even more when he moves forward, b
etween my knees, and I have to spread my legs to make room for him.

  My hands ache to touch him, but I keep them at my sides. His hands are still around my waist, but given the size of them that means they’re spanning the upper part of my ass, too. Deep inside, my muscles contract again.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” As he speaks, his index fingers brush up and down on the fabric of my panties, just barely, but the touch electrifies me so much that I clap my hands over his wrists to stop him from moving.

  Instead of backing off, Carlo leans in until his mouth is a hair’s breadth from mine. “You wanna tell me why you’re fighting this?”

  8

  Dangerous People

  Panic makes me cranky. “There is no ‘this’ to fight,” I snap.

  “Right.” He tugs me forward on the stool until my lady parts are almost touching the fly of his jeans. My intimate muscles spasm just from the proximity; no matter what words may come out of my mouth, my body knows what it wants. “So, last night,” he says. “You respond that way to every man who touches you?”

  No. I don’t. The truth is, he’s the first man who’s ever made me come. But there’s no way I can tell him that. “None of your business,” I say instead.

  “Since last night, it damn well is my business.”

  “Last night was a mistake.”

  I expect that to piss him off again, but instead his eyes get warm, verging on hot. “Not from where I’m standing.”

  “I don’t want you,” I tell him desperately.

  He sees right through the lie. “Babe,” he says, almost gently, his voice tinged with something close to pity. Like I’m pathetic for being in denial about something so obvious.