Page 40 of The Mafia Bachelor

All that matters is this girl.

I wonder whether I’ve done enough for Avery to fall for me, at least a little bit. Enough for her to marry me? I roll around the idea of kidnap in my mind, again.

But I made this stupid commitment, and while kidnapping Avery and forcing her to be my wife has considerable appeal, having two women in my life not accepting my decision might be a bit much.

I’m going to run this thing to the end. Play it by the book and choose Avery. No shortcuts, no reason for anyone to say I didn’t make a considered choice. I fell for Avery the moment I saw her, but I’ll show her we’re meant to be and she’s what I want.

Maybe a small kidnap if Avery disagrees, but we can get to that.

We fly to our house in Ireland for what Mam is calling the “private overnight dates”. One by one, I’ll spend time with each of the final candidates to be my wife, on our own. No spying eyes.

My mam lectures the remaining women while we’re on the private jet on the short hop from London to the nearest airfield in Southern Ireland. I don’t listen as she sets up detailed rules about them having to have breakfast at a certain time, and exactly how long the dates will be.

I just think about having Avery to myself. On our own. I choose her to have a day together first and Avery and I spend the morning walking along a clifftop—the sky white and grey, the wind tugging at Avery’s dark hair—to a castle, then explore the ruin. She enthuses about it, explaining the fireplaces and where the different rooms would have been.

I’m glad she likes it, but don’t tell her that I’ve bought it for her.

We chat. There’s a lingering ambiguity about what we’re doing and neither of us address it. She’s still my employee, and doesn’t know I’m aiming for her to be my wife in truth. Doesn’t realise how totally I’ve fallen in love with her.

We trade stories about our upbringing, and funny anecdotes. We have a long lunch in a tiny café on the beach, then stroll along the sand. Avery picks up shells, and I carry them for her, not caring that I’m getting sand and salt in the pockets of my suit.

It’s easier to talk now there’s no one listening, and Avery’s passion for history is insatiable. And I want to hear every thought that goes through that pretty head of hers. I drive her back to the house, then we head out on foot to my favourite local pub. We find a snug table amongst the low beams and dark-brown furniture that is dull in comparison to her hair.

On the way back, I catch her hand, and hold it.

And when we’re outside the front door of the house, I pull her into my arms. I brush my thumb over her cheek and look down into her face. I’m so gone for this girl. “Come to my suite.”

For a second, she’s caught, as though shocked. But my mam clearly set out the remit for this evening. It’s just us. No one watching.

Avery could say no. She should say no, and remind me that this is a professional arrangement. That I’m paying her to be in this so-called competition.

But she doesn’t. Her eyes light, and she breathes, “Yes”.

17

AVERY

Kill holds the door open for me, and the heat in his expression as I pass him into his rooms practically scalds me. There’s a soft click as the door shuts behind us and I still, unsure what to do next.

Maybe admire the elegance of the rooms, which are decorated in dark, masculine green and brown, with leather furniture and wool throws. Or make a joke. Do something clever, or memorable. This is all so messy. Being paid by Kill to be his insider means this is all fake, but right now, it doesn’t feel transactional. No one’s watching us.

Last time we were alone—truly alone—he kissed me and then pushed me up against the wall. And plunged his fingers between my legs. The buzz of that orgasm shudders through me.

Truth is, I think I want him, and I don’t care that he thinks I’m being paid and that’s the only reason I’m doing this. I want him enough that I’ll put up with the aftermath.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks from behind me.

No, I just want him.

He touches my shoulder and turns me. And I look up into his eyes and I’m filled with certainty. It’s only too easy to take a step away and although his brow furrows, I don’t mind. My hands tremble as I begin to undo the buttons at the back of my dress.

He doesn’t speak as the silk falls into a puddle at my feet. And then I undo my bra, releasing my breasts. Just in my knickers and my high heels, I look at him and can’t help but smile.

“I don’t want a drink,” I say.

I slowly lower myself to my knees, and his eyebrows lift almost in sync with my movements. There’s confusion. But when I reach for his belt, understanding dawns on his face.

“You don’t have to…” But his breath catches as I rub my hand over the increasingly solid length at my eye level.