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

few lists scrawled in the margins of techniques to self-calm and a

going through this stuff and I pause to examine it. Interest piqued because it seems out of place among textbooks. It looks like a journal and when I pull it out and open it, I

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

a second, feeling like I’m crossing a boundary, and

what might be an insight into his head, somehow though I know he wouldn’t like it, even if he has already been there

leaving it be and knowing it’s the right choice. If he wants me to know, then he will let me read it on his terms. I don’t glance

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 get, just by learning about it in a way he won’t need to know

small tiled room. The bathroom matches the rest of this studio loft apartment in that it’s rustic and very far away 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 or

as stark as this with nothing

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 this morning. The old me would never be caught dead looking this hellish in the presence of a

me looking worse in the past. Tear 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 something real between us that could grow, I’m suddenly very self-conscious with how I look around him. Deep down I want him

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

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

other man I have ever

would if he wasn’t Alexi

and just be calm around him; do what I would normally do

I mean he fell for me, without my trying. I need to have more faith in that. Stop panicking that I won’t match up to his expectations when really, he knows all the worst of me, and it hasn’t sent him

wake myself up and not exactly the cat liner temptress I normally am. I look like a very young and innocent me, who is completely out of her

with just how good he looks ruffled and sleep creased in his clothes. He doesn’t seem to have any hang-ups on me seeing him straight out of bed, anyway. Not that he should.

I would bag the one man in the world

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 a day to keep that baby-faced clean-shaven look he usually sports. I hate to admit, but I like this

in a carefree, cute, gorgeous dimpled way at my childish groping and leans in to kiss 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,

he was at his worst, I have no chance of staying unaffected

away from being a little too eager on that face and brush my clothes down, aware of his closeness and able to inspect my plain face more readily. Self-conscious of my appearance and lack of ability to keep him at arm’s length after such a cosy and full-on night with him. Dismissing the gushy

had wanted him so badly, throwing caution to the wind and pawing at him mercilessly. If he had pushed me up against a wall and tried for sex, I’m pretty sure my knickers would have fallen by themselves. I know

maybe I need to put a little distance back between us. Sensible head on. 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

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 to his ear. His whole manner tensing, and that flicker of

sudden and clear to me now. That colder, harder, dominant aura closing over him

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 maybe now he wants to get it dealt with, so it no longer hangs over his head. He is a lot like Alexi in that he