Holiday lights glow from the balcony railing, wrapped around the stone. They’re out on the trees in the grounds too, twined around the branches.
It’s beautiful. Then I glance over at the enforcer and my heart gives a lurch, becausehe’sbeautiful. Primal and deadly, yet with something vulnerable about the way he looks at me.
“C’mon.” Diego sits in the armchair, grimacing when it creaks, then gets the blankets ready. He pats his thigh. “Before you freeze to death in your little maid’s dress.”
Yessir.
A thin layer of snow crunches under my shoes as I cross to him, heart pounding like I’ve run ten miles, not walked three steps.
“Um.” It’s so awkward climbing onto his lap. We’ve barely spoken before, have hardly exchanged more than loaded glances, and now I’m putting my whole weight on him? Crawling onto him and trying not to knee him in the family jewels? “Is this—?”
“Yeah.” Diego shifts me on his lap. He wraps me up in all three blankets, then cradles me against his chest. “Yeah. This is it, right? Like this.”
A bubble of manic laughter crowds up my throat, because how the hell should I know? I’ve never sat on a man before—unless you count Santa’s lap at the mall when I was a little girl.
“Holly? What are you giggling about?”
“Well, you have the beard, I guess,” I wheeze, reaching up and petting his furry jaw. “But I can’t picture you sliding down a chimney.”
The enforcer huffs a laugh. “You’re calling me old.”
“No, I—”
“You’re callingmeold. De Rossi’s vicious henchman; the man with blood on his hands and no soul in his eyes. And now this pesky maid is sassing me, and I oughtta—”
His fingers dig through the blankets, tickling my sides, and I shriek and squirm in his lap, grinning so wide. And I haven’t laughed like this in months,haven’t felt the knot of terror in my chest ease in so long, and he’s perfect.
So perfect. I never imagined he would be like this.
We fall still, both breathing hard, our breath forming white plumes in the night air. Diego’s only in his shirtsleeves, and meanwhile hereIam bundled up like a fleecy burrito. I pluck at his collar. “Are you cold?”
“No. I run hot.” His dark eyes bore into mine. “Always have.”
Let me test that statement. Diego hisses when my icy fingers slide against his neck, exploring his warm skin, but he doesn’t flinch away. If anything, he presses into my touch.
“Believe me yet?”
“Maybe.” Biting my lip, I flick his shirt button undone. Then another, and another, and I can’t believe my own freaking daring. Apparently spying on a brutal crime family has turned me wild. “Let me try in here.”
Diego’s big head tips back with a grunt when I slide my hand inside his shirt, smoothing over the muscled planes on his chest. His eyes are half-lidded, watching me, and even in the dark, I can feel the scars on his bare skin.
Chest hair, too. God, he’s somanly.I squeeze my thighs together and try to level out my breathing.
“You like what you find, Holly?”
I wet my lips. My voice is hoarse. “Yes.”
“Well, you can touch me wherever you want, baby. Tonight, this scarred old body is all for you.”
Tonight.
Right. I bite my lip and stare at the hollow of his throat. It’s dim out here, but we’re lit by the string lights and the guest suite and the glow of the snow, and I see his throat bob. My fever’s cooling and he knows it. My fire’s been banked by a big dose of harsh reality, because tonight is all we have. Tonight is all we’lleverhave.
Diego’s hands tighten on me. One on my waist, one on my thigh, gripping me possessively through the blankets.
“You’re not going in yet,” he warns, his voice gruff. “You’re not running away from me. Don’t be scared of me, Holly. Not yet.”
No, I’m not scared of him—yet. But I will be soon, won’t I? And we both know it, so that’s what this is about. This dreamy interlude. These stolen moments together out under the snow, where neither Santo De Rossi nor the Governor nor anyone else can reach us.