Cruel Paradise (Beautifully Cruel #2) - J.T. Geissinger Page 0,99

feel a sob working its way up my throat. I have to swallow several times to choke it down. I drop my head onto his chest and listen to the slow, steady beat of his beautiful heart.

He says, “I’m meeting with him Tuesday at ten o’clock.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, not sure if I should laugh or start crying again. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

“I’m telling you because I don’t want there to be any lies between us. By omission or otherwise.”

“I feel like a white lie or two would be okay. Like if I say, ‘Does my ass look fat in these jeans?’ you should say, ‘No. Your ass always looks amazing.’ Even if my ass looks like an elephant’s backside.”

“Your ass would look amazing, even if it was the size of an elephant’s backside.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re afraid I’m about to poke out your eyeballs for meeting with my father.”

When he chuckles, I lift my head and stare at him. “It’s not necessary. Plus, it’s dangerous. He’ll try to put a bullet in your chest the second he sets eyes on you.”

“Aye. No doubt of that. But I’ve got a few things on the agenda besides asking for your hand in marriage.”

When I lift my brows, he says, “Like how he shouldn’t try to expand his operations into Boston when I retire, or I’ll give my contacts at the FBI enough evidence of his smuggling, racketeering, and drug trafficking activities to send him to prison for life.”

I shove myself up onto my palms and lock my elbows, staring down at him in shock. He misinterprets my expression.

“I know. I’m conflicted about it. He really should be behind bars, but he’s going to be family. It feels weird that I’d be the one to put him away. How can we tell the kids that dad ratted out grandpa?”

This entire conversation is making my head spin. “That’s not what I’m freaking out about.”

“What are you freaking out about?”

I say deliberately, “Retire?”

“From the gangster business,” he says, nodding. “I don’t think I’ll have time for it anymore, considering I’m taking on some new responsibilities. Looking after you is a full-time job.” He gives me a squeeze, smiling. “You do have a tendency to get into trouble.”

I give up.

I collapse onto his chest. He rolls me to my back, throws a leg over both of mine, and kisses me deeply, his hand around my throat so he can feel my pulse go haywire.

When we come up for air, I whisper, “You’re impossible.”

“If ‘impossible’ is code for ‘amazing,’ I agree.”

“It’s not code for amazing. Please kiss me again before you say something that pisses me off.”

He chuckles. “I see a lot of kissing in my future.”

I pull his head down, laughing softly against his lips. “One can only hope.”

We kiss again, this time even more deeply. When I start to squirm impatiently beneath him, he knows what I want. He murmurs, “You’re hurt, love.”

Love. I will never, ever get tired of hearing him call me that.

But I can’t tell him that, because his head is far too big already.

Tugging at the hem of his T-shirt, I grouse, “I’m not the only one about to be hurt here. If you’re not naked in five seconds, I’m liable to do something drastic.”

He pretends to be shocked. “You? Drastic? Never.”

“C’mon. Off with all of it. Hurry.”

He fights himself for about two seconds, then gives in with a grin. He rises to his knees, pulls his T-shirt over his head and tosses it away, and yanks open the fly on his jeans.

Gazing at his beautiful tattooed bare chest and abs, I sigh happily. I’m sure I’ve got little sparkly red hearts for eyes.

He says in a husky voice, “Ah, lass. You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m ogling your muscles.”

“Aye.” He chuckles again. “It’s honestly one of my favorite things.”

Staring into my eyes, he slides his palms up my thighs, bunching his white dress shirt up until it’s crumpled around my waist. He looks down at me, exposed underneath him, and licks his lips.

“All right then, little thief. What’s it to be first? My tongue or my cock?”

Lord. Dear lord. Chris Hemsworth is staring with naked lust at my body.

I whisper, “Either. But no accent. I just want you, honey. Only you. Forever.”

Killian’s gaze flashes back up to mine. His eyes are dark and heated. He executes some kind of Ninja moves to get out of his jeans and briefs with

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