Chapter 44 RóISE

Trailed by my security detail, Traci and I walk through the Quad after a special guest lecture. None of the others are attending the Saturday bonus series on obscure plays but we geek out over the same things.

We discuss the similarities and differences in comedic timing between now and when Bartholomew Fair was written in the seventeenth century as we walk, reaching the parking area before we know it.

"Who's that?" Traci asks, pointing to a guy leaning against a sleek, black motorcycle . "It looks like he's watching us."

A guy? More like the guy. "Uh, that's Miceli."

"Miceli who? Is this a date?" she asks eagerly.

A date? Probably not. Not with that forbidding expression giving the underboss's features a demonic air.

Shoot. I knew Uncle Brogan would tell on me to the De Lucas eventually, but I expected him to try to change my mind at least once more before he did it.

"He's uh…" What do I say?

If I pretend he's just a friend, when the engagement is announced, Traci will think I lied to her.

Traci's eyes narrow distrustfully. "He looks scary intense."

"He's my boyfriend," I blurt out.

And I'm not scared. Those goosebumps are because of the chilly spring air. I should have worn a thicker jacket.

Traci stops and drags me to a halt with her. "You have a boyfriend? Since when? "

"We've been together since February." Miceli's voice sends more not-scared shivers through me.

"What's wrong with you that she's hidden you from her friends?" Traci is always blunt.

Even with mafia underbosses, I guess. Not that she knows what Miceli is, and I don't plan on telling her.

Wearing head-to-toe black leather and scuffed boots, with a dark five o'clock shadow, he looks more like a biker than a billionaire mafia underboss.

"I asked her to. Our families didn't want the media getting hold of the story before we were ready."

Traci gasps. "You're in the mob too?"

"Traci!" I yelp.

Jayzuz, Mary and Joseph. All we need now is for Miceli to decide my friends are a security risk.

"Worse than that, I'm the COO of Oscuro Enterprises." He winks at Traci.

I stifle the groan that wants out. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking you home. Get on."

"That?" It's not my finest moment.

But I've never ridden on a motorcycle. Just another one of the things forbidden to a mob princess. I doubt mafia princesses get any more freedom than me and my cousins though. So, this is a calculated move on Miceli's part.

He's already figured out how much I crave things forbidden.

I want to ride on the back of that motorcycle so much my teeth ache. Even if it means putting my arms around Miceli's strong torso.

Maybe even more so because of that little detail.

How many chances will I get to ride it?

I doubt an underboss's wife is encouraged to do something so carefree.

"Here." He holds up a soft pink leather jacket and I slide my arms into it without hesitation.

It fits perfectly, even when it's zipped.

"Have fun!" Traci says as a classic Mustang rumbles into the parking lot. "That's my ride."

We hug.

"See you Monday," she says.

"Stay out of trouble," I yell as she walks away.

But I don't think my friend is the one who needs that warning.

The black helmet fits just as perfectly as the leather jacket. Either he got it for me or the other women he's given rides to have a head the same size as mine .

I don't like the thought, but I ask him about it anyway. "How many women have you had on the back of this bike?"

"None." He puts on his own helmet, dropping the visor and becoming a mysterious stranger.

No one would recognize him now, except maybe me. I know the shape and muscular contours of his body intimately.

Like a lot of other women .

But none of them are going to marry him, are they?

Even knowing exactly who he is and what he is to me, something deep inside gives a shudder of atavistic fear acknowledging that this man is dangerous.

He mounts the bike and puts his hand out to help me climb on behind him. My inner thighs grip his hips and I'm really glad I'm wearing jeans today.

With a grip on both of my thighs, he yanks me forward until I'm pressed indecently close to him. I don't try to scoot back, but lean forward and wrap my arms tightly around his middle.

"Good girl."

The shivers that go through me when he says those two words have nothing to do with fear.

The bike engine purrs to life and Miceli takes off, wind whooshing past us at even the sedate pace of the parking lot. The security detail pulls out behind us and I'll eat Fitz's Play-Doh if Miceli is sticking to the speed limit.

I figure out pretty fast that he's not taking me straight home when he takes the turn toward Brooklyn instead of back through Nassau County.

The wind whips around us now and I'm glad for both my jacket and helmet. The deep purr of the bike's engine and the hum between my legs causes a feeling I do not expect.

How am I getting turned on right now?

OK, yeah that might be a dumb question. This man is my sexual kryptonite. But who knew that riding behind him on the back of a motorcycle would be so erotic?

My vaginal walls clamp and wetness gushes into my panties. And my nipples? They are so freaking hard, they ache. I hug him tighter, not caring if he realizes it's not to stay on.

The one thing between us that doesn't feel wrong, that doesn't feel like it's about the mafia or the mob, is the way our bodies react to each other.

Sex. Really good, out of this world sex.