Maid for the Hitman: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance by Flora Ferrari (lightweight ebook reader txt) 📗

I turn and pace from the room.

They probably think I’m getting impatient with Jackie’s questioning, but that’s only a small piece of it. Most of the drumming pressure in my body comes from my woman, with her big round naïve eyes, with her full flushed cheeks, with every voluptuous inch of her seemingly designed for my pleasure.

And mine alone.

I drop onto the couch, resuming my previous position, trying – and failing – to keep my breathing steady as I hold a thousand steamy vignettes of Rosie in my mind.

After a pause and some whispered words, I hear them getting ready back there, drawers opening and closing.

I close my eyes and let out a short sigh, telling myself that this is all going to be okay. The women will disappear just like Vito wanted, and there’s no way he can access my estate to learn about my lie…

But what then?

My goal isn’t to hide with my woman for the rest of our lives, to raise a family in secret. I want us to stand in the light together, to roar from the highest rooftop that we’re here, that we belong together.

I want to be with her, openly, so that everybody can see how lucky I am, how beautiful she looks on my arm.

I sigh and run a hand through my hair.

These are concerns for another day, once my woman and her mother are safe.

I smirk when I think about the way Rosie was biting her lip back there, her eyes getting wide and needy.

My mind returns to the thought of her in a maid’s uniform, but this time, she’s not wearing tights.

She leans forward and sticks her ass out, showing the supple roundness of it, and her pink wet slit glistening, as though her hole is beckoning me to it.

I force my eyes open and let out a snarl, fighting back the image.

I can’t allow myself to fall into these thoughts so easily.

Otherwise, I’ll fall upon her like the savage beast I am the moment we’re alone.

Before she even understands that she belongs to me, that she’s mine – body, soul, everything – I’ll force my engorged manhood between her thighs and I’ll…

Goddamn it, I’m doing it again.

I laugh darkly, shaking my head.

Resisting her is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rosie

I sit in the back of his black sedan, my hand in mom’s, as he guides us through the city.

Mom squeezes my palm tightly, sighing and glancing at me every few moments, her bright eyes brimming with questions as though she’s finding this as difficult to believe as I am.

I try not to stare at Ryland as we leave our rundown neighborhood and head for the bridge, but my gaze is pulled to him over and over as though magnetized. I can’t stop myself from drinking in the sight of him, my mouth going dry even as my other set of lips is anything but.

He handles the steering wheel deftly in his giant’s hands, but his knuckles are bone-white. He’s gripping it hard for some reason, as though he’s angry that he has to do this, shield us based on his principles.

I remember the way his body felt crushed against mine in the apartment, the hard ridges of his muscles pressing through the fabric of his suit.

If I wasn’t holding my mom’s hand, I know I’d let my mind fly to silly, impossible places.

Instead, I sigh and let my forehead rest against the glass.

We join the traffic on the bridge, the water glittering below us, the setting sun making the city shimmer orange-red.

After an hour of driving, we’re in the countryside.

Ryland turns onto a stone pathway that leads us down a long road, bordered on all sides by flowering nature. The sun has almost completely set now, giving everything a storybook appearance.

“Oh my,” Mom murmurs when Ryland’s estate comes into view.

Oh my is right.

It sits atop a small hill like a fairytale castle, a building made of stone the same shade as Ryland’s hair. A black iron gate sits between two grinning gargoyles, and through the gate, I see a long field that ends in a fountain, water flying toward the sky.

Ryland lowers his window and leans out, brushing his thumb against a metal access pad built into the brickwork.

The gates whine and open slowly, and Ryland drives us down the pathway.

I gaze at the massive estate, more silly thoughts firing brightly in my mind.

As we drive toward the looming house – seeming crazily big the closer we get – I imagine a group of happy-faced children running across the lawn, screaming, Mommy, Mommy.

I imagine Ryland jogging across the lawn, grinning in his silver armor of a suit, leaning down to scoop them into his arms and cradle our children close.

My womb throbs as dream Ryland looks up at me, smiling over the tops of our children’s heads.

I clasp my hands to my belly, squeezing as though I can communicate some sense to my womb by touch alone.

What the heck is wrong with me?

These thoughts are downright insane.

Ryland brings the car to a stop at the steps that lead up to his imposing home.

I see him smirk in the rearview when the barking begins.

“I guess that’s Chopper?” I murmur, flinching at the sound.

He sounds like a helicopter, growling between the barks, so loud I can hear him from the door, down the steps, all the way in here. He sounds like he’s going to blow the door down and sprint down here to maul us.

“Is it safe?” Mom whispers. “He sounds feral.”

“Oh, he’s feral, alright,” Ryland smirks, chuckling.

“I hope he isn’t aggressive,” Mom says tartly.

For a moment, it’s like I can forget about the cancer and the pain of these past few months. She sounds exactly how she used to, ready to take on the world with her words and her outrage and not much else.

“I don’t know about that,” Ryland smirks, clearly enjoying making us squirm. “I guess we’ll have to