The Bossman by Renee Rose

Author:Renee Rose [Rose, Renee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00IY0FUVC
Published: 2014-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

She must have offended him, because he was suddenly spanking harder than she would have thought was possible with just his hand. “Ouch!” she cried, reaching back to cover her terrorized bottom. “Neanderthal!”

He caught her hand and bent it behind her back and dealt several more slaps. “I told you I don’t share, baby girl.”

As the pain increased beyond the level she could manage and still keep her head, she started to think she’d been absolutely nuts to suggest maintenance. “Ouch!” she whined. “I’m sorry, Joey!”

He stopped spanking abruptly and pulled her up to stand between his legs again. She wanted to hide her face in his shoulder, because she was close to losing composure. His expression softened when he saw her trembling lip and he pulled her onto his lap, the fabric of his jeans feeling rough against her tenderized bottom. “Are you okay?” he whispered in her ear, holding her against his chest.

She nodded against his neck. “Yeah,” she said softly.

“Was that maintenance?”

“Yeah, minus you getting mad at the end.”

He chuckled into her hair. “I wasn’t mad.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Believe me, baby, when I’m mad, I am a Neanderthal and you won’t want to be anywhere near me.”

She pulled away to look at him. Just how menacing was he? Would he ever hurt her for real? When he’d pounded on her door so angrily after the barbecue, she’d had a moment of real fear, thoughts of calling the police or grabbing the gun he’d left flitting through her mind. But then he’d spoken, and she realized she was being foolish.

As if he guessed her thoughts, he brushed his lips over hers and said, “Don’t worry. I would never touch you if I were mad. And I already told you I will never smack anything but your sweet little ass.”

A shiver ran down her spine just the same. She would do well to remember he was a dangerous man.

The timer on the oven buzzed and she jumped off his lap and pulled up her pants, then stopped and faced him. “May I go check on the food?”

He grinned. “Where’s the ‘sir’?” he demanded in mock outrage, but stood to follow her.

She’d made manicotti the way her Nana taught her, as well as lightly sautéed vegetables. Joey opened the bottle of wine without being asked. There was something so decidedly right about having a man like him in the house. Like he knew his role and didn’t need to be told how to fill it. But it was the same thing that made her on edge with him. He was too pushy, too sure of himself. He never took no for an answer, and he had the worst possible job. And really, that was the sticking point. Because even if she ever did get used to his bullish ways, she would never, ever be able to live with a mobster. Not again.

After dinner, Joey helped her with the dishes, and her phone rang.

Her mother. Crap. If she didn’t answer, the woman would keep calling every thirty minutes.

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