The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

The awkwardness and weird strained silence disappeared once the wine flowed more freely, and we found we had a lot of things we could talk about between movies. Alexi is funnier than I thought he could be, with a dry humour not unlike mine, a wicked childish streak that can be adorable when it shines through. He annoyed me immensely, more than once, and we bickered frequently, but he just swooped in and shut me up mid rage with a tongue in my mouth. He’s too good at doing it, like stealth snogging and you don’t see him coming at all. My legs gave out and body melted the second his lips glued to mine and I ceased to think about anything, except him.

This morning, however, in the cold light of day with a mega headache and fuzzy brain, waking up cosily by his side, all my doubts and fears dive right back in.

I shouldn’t forget who he is and what he can do. I have to be smart and keep my heart shielded until I suss out if this thing between us can work. There is a lot at risk, and my sanity is still in recovery from being burned by him before.

You don’t forget the wolf just because he wears sheep’s wool well. Alexi is still a demon under that pretty face, I just haven’t given him cause to show it yet. He is on the charm offensive because I’m something he wants. When the novelty wears off or I give him a reason to be mad, then we shall truly see who he really is.

The true proof of whether I can trust him will be when I disobey him and make him angrier than hell.

If he punishes me, I’m gone. That’s my hard limit. I won’t forgive him for inflicting pain on me, even if it is only emotional.

I just don’t know if I deliberately want to push it anymore, to see. A part of me tells me I’ll get my answers and then I can walk away unscathed. Then the other part of me is clinging onto this little ray of hope that just maybe, he will not disappoint me or hurt me like he keeps promising.

The guy I was with last night is someone I could truly fall head over heels in love with. Even though technically I already am. It’s complicated and my head and heart is a complete mess. I don’t know which way is up anymore and I’m dealing with a man who can be two completely different people, depending on where he is and what he wants. He wears many coats and can turn in the blink of an eye. I shouldn’t underestimate what he is capable of.

He is a cold killer with a serious sinister side.

I should never forget that.

He’s still asleep, nose against his own shoulder and looking sexily scruffy, lying face down and sprawled out like he owns the space around him. Like this, it’s easy to imagine a future with him and a chance at something that might work. A gentleman who made me feel like I would never have reason to fear or doubt him. A guy who gave me goosebumps and butterflies and bowled me over and flipped me upside down with this new side to him.

Therein lies his lure. Alexi can appear to be exactly what I want because he knows how to read and play me. He knows about me and my deepest secrets, therefore he knows how to be, and who to be if he wants to make me fall under his spell all over again. I still don’t trust him when I remember he is a wolf who can bend and change to manipulate what he wants out of people. Including me.

I watch him for a moment again, looking at him and pondering things. Torn in two and only seeing who was here with me all night.

We didn’t get under the duvet last night; I remember that much, both fully clothed we had one fur throw over us that we brought up here from the chairs. The wine went to my head, and within minutes of being curled up here against him, in this secret hiding hole he calls his sanctuary, I fell asleep like some trusting idiot and slept in his arms.

He is the first man I have ever done that with.

Felt at peace enough to sleep without fear. I didn’t wake from bad dreams either. In fact, I don’t think I dreamt at all, not once.

I move slowly to get up as I desperately need the loo, bladder fit to burst if I sit here much longer, making him come to a little as my weight makes the bed dip and then release, but all he does is move his face to the other side, slide his arm up under the pillow and fall back asleep. Lying on his stomach, so all I get is that sexy haircut and a peek of the dragon tattoo. Peaceful and angelic, like a true devil hiding all that evil out of sight. I watch him for a second until his breathing returns to heavy and steady; holding my breath before I get up to work my way downstairs to the bathroom with as little noise as possible.

As I slide up and out, my butt nudges the books on the shelf at the end of the bed and I clamber to grab the scattering objects before they thud to the ground and rouse him. I just want some alone time to get my shit together before he wakes up. I need the headspace and serenity of time alone now I’m on the way to being sober. I need to process and just have a minute to breathe.

personality condition and I impulsively tip it sideways to let the pages flip open for a quick nosey. That part of me that is eager to know more about what it means in terms of

notes in handwriting I recognise as his, and I feel like I’m being way too intrusive. Highlighted paragraphs on self-therapy and such. A few lists scrawled in the margins of techniques to self-calm and

leather-bound book, heart racing slightly in case he sees me going through this stuff and I pause to examine it. Interest piqued because it seems out of

you write out your feelings and thoughts. I’ve never had a psychiatry appointment, but a couple of my regulars did and were very open about the process, sharing their diaries and leaving them in plain sight. Apparently, it’s a common way to give the doctor insight into your thoughts and feelings and is a healthy way to help you vent the things you

back and stare at it for a second, feeling like I’m crossing a boundary, and this is a gross invasion

might be an insight into his head, somehow though I know he wouldn’t like it, even if he has already been there and done that. He trusts me enough to tell me about this stuff, it’s a step too far to take that knowledge

let me read it on his terms. I don’t glance back in case the urge is stronger than my willpower and make my way downstairs to his bathroom. Head swirling

curious about him, but I don’t want to snoop this way. I want him to tell me, answer any questions I have, and it wouldn’t hurt to do some research online about ADHD and this disorder. Maybe that’s all the information I’ll need. Maybe I’ll get answers beyond anything I expected to

from money and grandeur. He has a tub with a shower over it, shielded with a simple white shower curtain and industrial fixtures and fittings. The basic bare necessities in here, toilet, sink with very few toiletries and no real décor or trinkets to style it. A functional bathroom owned by a dude with very little concern for home furnishings when taking a dump

as this with nothing personal and not a lot of grooming products on show. He likes uncluttered simple routines to get ready, nothing changed

before he wakes when I catch sight of myself in the mirror over the sink as I turn around and close the door. My reflection is pitiful, and I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge with smudgy makeup and obvious sign of alcohol abuse. I look a fright and I definitely do not want him to see me looking this shit

stained, drunk, soaking wet and even sick, but none of those times did I think I had a chance in hell of anything with him. It’s different now. Knowing there’s

not a good look, it’s like junkie chic after an overdose. Something I left on the streets of Hackney when I bought

a chance to wash my face when I catch wind of his footsteps on the metal stairway, softly padding down towards me and quickly pat it dry to make myself presentable. Brushing my fingers through my hair quickly, trying to fluff it out and tame the wild bed head. Acting like some desperate teen whose crush just came sauntering in and cursing myself for such juvenile behaviour. I have more skill than this, more experience in playing men, and I need to stop putting him on some higher pedestal. No

male; therefore, the fundamental basics are the same. He is no different to any other man I have ever seduced and coerced, only this one has an actual invested

would if he wasn’t

normally do to entice a sexy beast with pale eyes and a soulless aura that draws

match up to his expectations when really, he knows all the worst of me, and it hasn’t sent him running for the hills at

makeup free, rosy-cheeked and a little blushed from using cold water to wake myself up and not exactly the cat liner temptress I normally am. I look like a very

and I open it rather than answer, smiling shyly, getting hit with just how good he looks ruffled

circles and a lot of morning stubble. Just my luck I would bag the one man in the world who looks hotter with a hangover, not worse,

and I reach out and run my fingers across his chin impulsively as soon as he gets close, as though I’m an inquisitive child eager to feel this crazy phenomenon that grows fast on that tanned face. I guess it’s because he’s olive-skinned and foreign with black hair that erupts at the speed of light. He must shave twice

me gently on the lips. Chaste and closed mouth, but it does stupidly weird things to my insides, and I know that the longer I’m around this version of him, the harder I’m falling. Kissing is now our thing, after last night, it

him. I fell in love when he was at his worst, I have no chance of staying unaffected when he is trying to be his best for me. Not when

down, aware of his closeness and able to inspect my plain face

wall and tried for sex, I’m pretty sure my knickers would have fallen by themselves. I know I came stupidly close to just begging him to fuck me and throwing all

I let it go too far and I’m putting myself on a limb I’m not sure can take the weight yet. I need to reel back and bring some distance into play. It’s not smart to jump in with both feet when dealing with a man who likes to set things on fire for amusement. I don’t have

…” He doesn’t get to finish as his cell phone sends off weird little beeps interrupting us, and he pulls it out of his back pocket, frowning at the screen with a dark look before putting it

is so sudden and clear to me now. That colder, harder, dominant aura

cold, devil, sinister air, mirrored on his face as he visually closes up. This is Alexi Carrero moving in and it’s transfixing to watch the instant shift in him. It’s also a necessary reminder that he’s still this person outside of these walls, and something I was forgetting all too quickly. Love drunk on a version that was new

maybe now he wants to get it