Patrick: A Mafia Love Story (3 page)

They had a quick meeting, and as he started to leave, Alexei motioned to one of the dancers making her rounds. She was a cute redhead with freckles peppered across the bridge of her nose and large eyeglasses. It was difficult to tell if they were part of her costume or necessity.

“Tonya, take care of Mr. Murphy before he leaves, will you?”

Patrick bit back a groan, not wanting to deal with such hospitality. Refusing a lap dance—or whatever he was being offered—could lead to bad will, so he steeled himself to follow her into a private room.

Tonya indicated he should sit on a comfortable recliner, and he did so, but he couldn’t relax. He curled his fingers into the leather upholstery as she started to gyrate in front of him to the sultry music playing. It sounded like some sort of Indian music, with a sitar plucking mournfully every few notes. It wouldn’t be his first choice for sexy music, but her moves were in perfect sync, and she did it well.

If his mind hadn’t been completely consumed with Lauren, he wouldn’t have had any problem responding to the little redhead, and he probably would’ve enjoyed a quick fuck in the private room.

As it was, he couldn’t hide his lack of interest when she sat on his lap, rubbing against him in a suggestive way. It reminded him of the way Lauren had danced with that other guy, and the thought of being against her instead made his erection harden.

Tonya giggled. “That’s better. I was starting to think you didn’t like me.”

He maintained his silence as she bobbed and rubbed against him, barely managing to keep himself erect. He certainly wasn’t feeling it when she was rubbing against him. Even imagining it was Lauren didn’t help, because it felt like a betrayal. She wasn’t his, at least not officially, so she had no claim on him, but it felt disloyal to be imagining her being the one doing this to him when some strange woman was touching him.

Finally, with a grunt, he lifted her off his lap and back onto the floor. He kept his hands on her hips for just a moment until she was stable on her platform shoes. “Thank you.” He said it gruffly, aware he didn’t sound all that grateful.

She tipped her head, looking puzzled. “Don’t you want more? Mr. Varnakov told me to take care of you.”

If she’d been frightened, or displayed fear at displeasing her boss, he would have perhaps reacted differently, or maybe even offered her a way out. As it was, she just seemed puzzled and not too concerned about disappointing Alexei. Apparently, she wasn’t forced to work here, or she didn’t feel threatened if she was.

He didn’t have a lot of experience in the sex trade, especially with trafficked workers, but it always seemed obvious which ones were there because they’d made the choice to be, and which ones were being held captive. Of course, the ones who were prisoners and slaves usually didn’t work the strip clubs. That was too much public contact. From what he knew, they would be secreted away in dark houses and brothels that looked as nondescript as a typical suburban neighborhood, but were dens of iniquity inside.

“You’re a beautiful woman, honey, but…” He shrugged.

She grinned, displaying a dimple in her chin. The girl was absolutely adorable, but she wasn’t Lauren. “Oh, I see.”

He arched a russet-colored brow. “What do you see?”

“You have someone else on your mind. Another woman. I’d venture to guess you haven’t had her yet, or maybe you wouldn’t be obsessing about her so hard.” Tonya giggled, reaching out to squeeze his upper bicep in a sign of support. “I don’t think it’ll be long before you get her. What girl could resist your charms?”

“I’m not good enough for her.” There it was. The bald admission of truth hung in the air, and he couldn’t believe he was making it to some strange dancer he didn’t even know. At least he hadn’t spilled the whole story.

Tonya shrugged. “Maybe you should let her decide for herself?” She winked at him as she turned toward the curtain that she had drawn behind them when they’d first entered. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Murphy. If you ever change your mind, feel free to come back for that lap dance.” She winked at him as she exited the private room.

Patrick sat there a moment longer, processing what had occurred. Was he making the right choice and just deciding there couldn’t be a relationship between himself and Lauren Welsh, or was this more of the same over-protectiveness she had called him on at dinner? Was she truly free to make her own decisions and old enough to know what she wanted?

With a sigh, he stood up from the recliner and left the strip club. Even if she chose him, she didn’t know all the facts. She had no idea he was a mafia boss, and she sure as fuck didn’t know he had been the one to put a bullet between her father’s eyes as the other man had called on Patrick to protect his daughter when he’d realized his friend was going to do it.

He was the one who would always be haunted by Howie’s face. If he told her the truth, or she learned of it herself, she would hate him. It always came back to that, and that was the only reason he needed to know he couldn’t have what he wanted. He would never have Lauren, but that was for the best.

She had been home for a week now, and Patrick had maintained the distance between them. It seemed obvious he was going to hold out as long as possible, and she was about to enact Plan B. Today was her last chance to get his attention before she escalated. As it was, only a case of nerves keeping her from going forward with the next step. She had no idea how he was going to react if she had to resort to such methods, but she was getting to the point where she would try anything.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and she figured he’d be home. Patrick usually took weekends off, except for whatever emergencies might arise. She didn’t know what emergencies cropped up for the mafia, but imagined they had something to do with guns, drugs, or money. She didn’t approve of what he did, but she had resigned herself to accepting it. It was either take Patrick as he was or not have him at all. When those two choices were distilled to the purest form, her option was obvious. She’d rather be a mafia moll than deny herself Patrick.

Unfortunately, he was quite adept at denying her himself. With a sigh, she left her room and padded down to the pool on bare feet, hoping to find him stretched out on a chaise lounge there. He used to swim on Saturday afternoons, and she hoped his routine hadn’t changed.

She was in luck, finding him sunning himself when she stepped out onto the patio and winced as her bare feet touched the hot concrete. “Oh,” she hissed. “That’s hot.” It was only early June, but the weather was uncomfortably hot. It would only get hotter, and it was certainly a big adjustment from the temperature she’d been used to for the last four years in Ireland.

She hoped his eyes were on her as she strolled the pool, shrugging off the transparent sarong she had looped around her waist. It had done little to hide what she was wearing, but now it did nothing as she stood in a very revealing bikini. The strapless cups barely covered her areolas, and the thong went up her ass. Tiny white ties held it on her hips, but that was it. She wasn’t entirely confident in wearing it. Not because she didn’t look good, but she was half-afraid it would fly off when she jumped into the water.

She had to bite back a giggle at the thought of her top snapping open, flying across the patio and smacking Patrick in the face. That would be one way to get his attention.

She dove into the water, shivering as the coolness penetrated. The water was mildly heated, but it was still a bit of a cold shock after the heat of stepping outdoors. She surfaced a moment later and swam lazily, making her way toward Patrick. Once she was in front of him, certain he had a good view, she flipped over onto her back and started floating.

She kept her legs spaced widely apart, hoping to allow him a glimpse of what he was denying himself. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be out here. I know you used to swim on the weekends, but you’re always busy these days.” How true that was. He seemed to be making an effort to stay out of her way, and she assumed it was because he wanted to avoid her. Not because he didn’t want to spend time with her, but because he did. At least she hoped that was the case.

His sunglasses came off slowly and as he looked at her, his mouth tightened. “What the fuck is that?”

She flinched, looking over her shoulder automatically and displacing her float. “What’s what?” she asked as she treaded water slowly.

“That thing you’re almost wearing.”

Bingo. She barely held back a grin of satisfaction. “It’s a bikini, Patrick. I’m sure you’ve seen them before. In fact, I know you have, because I’ve seen your lady friends strolling around the house upon occasion.” But not this time. Not since she’d been back had Patrick had anyone in the house.

That summer she’d stayed with him between high school and college, it had seemed to be a never-ending string of floozies—which was an unfair term, because she couldn’t blame the women for wanting him as much as she did—and he’d been determined to parade them all in front of her. At the time, she had been a hurt teenager. But with the perspective of time and maturity, she suspected it had been a twofold operation. His first purpose had been to distract himself from her presence, and the second had been to show Lauren he had no interest in her.

Or perhaps she was just fooling herself. With a sigh, she paddled to the edge of the pool and lifted herself out. If he had looked properly, he would have seen a generous eyeful of her modest cleavage. She hoped he’d gotten his fill. Once poolside again, she made a production of stretching, but not reaching for a towel.

“Put on some damn clothes.”

Lauren grinned at Patrick. “I’m wearing clothes. I don’t consider this skinny-dipping, but if you prefer…?”

He scowled at her as he stretched and grabbed a towel, thrusting it at her with more force than necessary. “Cover yourself. You know who’s around?”

She made a big production of looking around them before settling her gaze back to him. “I only see you and me, Patrick. Is it you that you’re worried about?”

He took off his sunglasses, pushing them on top of his head. “There is staff around, and guards everywhere. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there. If you want to put on a whore show for everyone, I guess that’s your business.”

She flinched at the words, glaring at him. “It’s hardly a whore show.” Annoyed, she wrapped the towel around herself, and not because he’d insisted. She was just done giving him a free “whore” show, if he wanted to consider it that. Grumpy bastard.

“I don’t know what your problem is, Patrick, but you have to stop acting like my damn father. You’re not my dad.” She started to slip past him gracefully, determined to leave on that note. She glared down at him as she passed. “I don’t want another father. That’s not at all what I want from you.”

She’d barely made it another step before his hand fastened around her wrist, sending sparks of electricity up her arm and making her shiver. Seconds later, she was sprawled atop him, their faces inches apart. She caught her breath as her heart galloped in her ears. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” He glared at her as he repeated her question. “This game you’re playing can get you in trouble.”

She didn’t know whether to go for innocent or to admit what she was doing. Hesitating, she licked her lips. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind of trouble a young woman just starting out in life doesn’t want. Behave yourself.”

She rolled her eyes. “There you go acting like my father again, Patrick.” She poked him in the chest lightly with her fingertip. “You’re not my damned father.”

He shifted her suddenly, bringing the heat of her folds against the pressing arousal between his legs. “I know I’m not your father. But I’m still trying to do the right thing and look out for you. So I’d suggest you knock this off right now.”

She couldn’t resist circling her hips, rubbing against him and eliciting a groan from both of them. “Who’s to say you’re doing the right thing? Maybe this is the right thing.” For emphasis, she raised herself before rubbing down his length, wishing there weren’t swim clothes separating them.

He was clearly battling between anger and arousal. “Stop.”

The gruff command should have been intimidating, but all it did was turn her on. She could see his shell finally cracking, and she reveled in it. “No.” She mimicked his tone as she dry-humped him.

“Dammit, Lauren, this isn’t right.”

“It feels so good.” She whispered the word softly as she leaned near him, squeezing her hands on his shoulders while she rode him. His lips were hard and resistant against hers when she pressed her mouth to his, but he didn’t push her away. She softened her lips to mold to his, her tongue teasing the seam of his lips for entrance. With an abrupt groan, Patrick yielded, allowing her tongue inside his mouth. A second later, his dove back into hers, and he kissed her openmouthed, his tongue plundering the depths of her mouth.

As they kissed, pent-up hunger burning between them, she continued to rub against him. His cock was hitting just below the bundle of nerves at her clit, and his deeply restrained need, obvious from the way he was holding himself otherwise immobile underneath her, pressed all her buttons in the right way.

She liked the battle within him, liked knowing she left him conflicted, because it was a reaction. At this point, any reaction was welcome. She grinded her pelvis against him as she twined her tongue with his, using the head of his cock to get off. She let out a small squeal followed by a longer moan as her walls clenched, and juices flooded her skimpy bikini pants.

As though her orgasm had brought him back to his senses, Patrick abruptly grunted and pushed her away. She would have fallen off the lounger onto the cement of the patio if he hadn’t held her. He only kept his hands on her long enough to study her on her feet before he moved away, rolling off the other side of the lounger and putting space between them. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“You were doing your share.” She touched her bruised lips that felt raw from his possession. They hurt, but in a good way. “You want me. I don’t know why you won’t just admit it.”

“Fine, I admit it. I want you, Lauren, but I’m not going to have you. There are a million good reasons why I can’t, and I’m asking you to respect that.”

She shook her head, firming her lips. “If you’re not even going to tell me why, you can’t make that request. It isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” he roared in a near shout. “Just go away. I don’t want to see any more of this. You shouldn’t be doing this, and you sure as fuck shouldn’t want me. Stop pushing me, because I guarantee you’ll regret it.”

With his admonishment burning in her ears, she turned and stalked from the pool back to her room. She got a measure of satisfaction by slamming the door behind her, but it did little to soothe the anger stirring inside her.

How dare he tell her how she should feel? She wouldn’t regret having him. She didn’t know all that was holding Patrick back, but there was nothing that was a good enough reason to keep them apart when they wanted each other this badly. She just couldn’t imagine anything that would make her regret being with him.

He was probably doing this because of some protective instinct to guard her from his illegal life, but that was stupid. She already knew, and maybe she should tell him that. She had known for a long time that her father was mixed up in something shady, and since he was often with his friend Patrick, it hadn’t taken a genius to find a connection between them. She had known for years, and she loved him just the same.

With a sigh, she sat down at her desk and instituted Plan B. There was absolutely no way he could resist this. Was there?