Stolen Touches (Perfectly Imperfect, #5)

by Neva Altaj

I take off my jacket, intending to lay it over the car door and leave, but my gaze falls on the nurse’s face and my breath catches in my throat. She’s looking at the baby in her arms, smiling with such awe and joy it makes her face glow. It’s so unguarded and so sincere I can’t force my eyes away from her lips. I felt nothing at the supposed miracle of life, but a strange sensation suddenly tightens my chest while looking at her, and with it, a foreign feeling of . . . wanting. I squeeze the jacket in my hand, trying to decipher the meaning of this unbidden urge to grab the girl’s face and turn her to me so I might claim her smile for myself. I don’t have a good name for what’s overtaken me. Perhaps . . . yearning?

I haven’t told Andrea or anyone else yet, but I don’t plan on going back to Chicago. Ever. I’m done with all the Cosa Nostra crap.

“Put two cameras to cover the whole space,” I say. “I want it done in the next twenty-four hours, and set the recordings to stream directly to my laptop. No one else is to have access.”

Yes. I find Milene Scardoni very interesting.

“And we’re getting married in December,” the jacket guy says as he looks down at me. “Aren’t we, Goldie?”

But I wasn’t satisfied with watching her from afar anymore. I want Milene Scardoni like I’ve never wanted anything else before.

I roll over on the bed to bury my face in the pillow and groan. He didn’t do this out of boredom, and I very much doubt he’ll let me go. This shit is for real. Me. Married. To the fucking Don of New York.

“What I am, is uninterested.” “Uninterested.” I nod. He’s absolutely nuts. “About the people who work for you, or people in general?” “In general. With one exception,” he says and levels me with that unnerving gaze of his. “You.”

“You shooed away a whole restaurant full of people?” “You said you wouldn’t be comfortable with them staring at you.” He pulls my hand closer. “Now they won’t.” My heartbeat skyrockets. That’s the most fucking romantic thing a man has ever done for me. “So, a hundred or more people had to leave in the middle of their meal because of my shorts?” “No. They had to leave because no one gets to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Why”—he buries his fingers in my hair, pulling my head lower until my mouth almost touches his lips—“did I buy the bracelet, Milene?” “Because I liked it?” I whisper against his lips. “Because you liked it,” he says as he presses his mouth to mine.

“I’m not jealous.” I take a sip of coffee. “I just have an uncontrollable urge to kill any man who even looks at my wife.”

“You can try running,” he says and tilts my head up, “but I will catch you every time, Milene.”

The mere idea of Milene wearing something that belonged to another man nearly sends me on a murdering rampage. The sight of her in my clothes, however, pleases me immensely.

“I want you to smile at me every day,” I say next to her ear and slam into her again. “Every.” Slam. “Fucking.” Slam. “Day.”

“I love when you scream, cara,” he says and suddenly pulls out. I stare at him. He did not just do that! “You don’t have to worry about the hitmen, Salvatore,” I snarl, winding my legs around his waist and grabbing at his throat with my hand. “Because I’m going to be the one to end your life if you don’t get your cock back inside me.”

Squeezing my arm more tightly around her, I smash my lips against hers, stealing that smile. It’s mine. She’s mine. Along with everything else she has to give. Every smile, every kiss, every moan. They’re all mine.

I put the phone back in my pocket and find Aldo and Stefano gaping at me. “We adopted a cat. It’s defective,”

“You’ve never been scared of me,” he says. “Why?” I smile, as he continues to rock into me, his tempo building. “Answer me, Milene.” “I was too mad at you to be scared!” “That”—he thrusts his cock into me again with such force I explode in an instant like fireworks and thunder—“is the most idiotic answer I’ve ever heard.”

“You are not people.” “Oh?” Tremors rock my body so hard I can barely manage words. “And what am I?” His mouth stills. Slowly, he lifts his head and stares into my eyes. “Mine,” he says and thrusts his fingers all the way in, hitting that spot only he has ever found. “You are mine, Milene.”

“You scared the fucking shit out of me. Don’t you dare send me away like that again,” she whispers. “Next time, you’re coming with me.” I grind my teeth. She has no idea how hard it was to trust her safety in Stefano’s hands instead of getting her out of harm’s way myself. “Stefano is faster than me, cara.” “I don’t fucking care!” she snaps, and the line goes dead. I lower the phone and stare at it. No one ever dares to hang up on me, and yet, she does it all the time. It’s strange.

“I want to feel her skin when I touch her,” I answer. “And I can’t do that if I’m wearing a glove.”

“If even a seed of an idea of hurting my wife formed in anyone’s head, I would smash said head open with my bare hands like it’s a fucking watermelon,” I spit out. “Next, I would take out their sick brain and squeeze it so hard the only thing left would be mush.”

The pulsing dot stops. My heart skips a beat. A minute later, the phone on my desk rings. I grab the phone and take the call. “Ajello,” the voice on the other side says. “I heard you lost something.” “Where is my wife, Patrick?” He laughs. “Oh, wouldn’t you love to know?” “Where. Is. She?”

He knows I’m saving the best for last. I smile and take another step. Oh, how I will enjoy filleting the man who hurt the only thing in this world I love.

“You don’t understand, Milene,” I say into her mouth. “Of course I do.” She smiles and looks right into my eyes. “I love you, too, Tore.”

“Standing on a coffee table? Really?” He grabs me around the waist and lowers me onto the floor. “You could have broken your neck! That thing is two hundred years old. It could have collapsed underneath you.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m serious. I’m going to go completely gray in a year because of you.” “Oh, don’t you dare blame me for your gray hairs.” I press my hands to his hair, combing my fingers through it, and savoring the moment. “You came to me like this. Very dashing, I must admit.”

“I want a psychological evaluation from a licensed animal psychologist, on paper, before it sets its paws in here.”

“Felix,” Alessandro says into the phone, “It’s Az. I need you to do something for me.”

“Did you sleep well, vita mia?” I narrow my eyes at him and point at the small bundle he’s holding on his chest. “Stop stealing my baby.” From the moment we came home from the hospital a month ago, Salvatore has been using every opportunity he can to sneak into the nursery, take Mia, and carry her around with him everywhere. His explanation—she likes sleeping in his arms better than in the bed. And if it wasn’t enough, he’s been the one holding her while she’s awake, too. All. The. Time.

He looks down at the baby sleeping on his chest. Mia’s eyes flutter open and a moment later two amber gazes collide. And then, my husband smiles.