Mafia's Final Play (Mafia's Obsession #3) - Summer Cooper Page 0,16
she’d just done a strip show for only him, the best strip show ever performed. She loved that small amount of power she had over him.
She’d never had power over anyone before, not in any way, not really. She probably did over her mother, after she’d become bedridden, but even then, her mother was the one in control. Now, though, she knew that she could distract her husband, could get his attention, by doing nothing more than leaning forward to let him see her cleavage in a low-cut top, or by whispering in his ear. The brush of her fingers against the inside of his wrist would do it too, she’d noticed.
There were dozens of ways she could distract him and she did it often. Not just because it was a display of her power, but because she reacted the same way to him. It was an equal power share in a funny sort of way, she decided.
“Do you think we’ll make it to this secret house in the middle of nowhere before we have to find some privacy?” she asked him as another tease.
“If you keep it up, I’ll take you to that tiny bathroom, turn you to face the wall, and fuck you until you can’t stand up. Or is that what you're after?”
She looked up into gray eyes that had turned a dark shade of steel, a sure sign that he was close to letting her have her way.
“Maybe it is.” The quirk of her lips was his undoing and she giggled as he pulled her up from her seat to take her to the back of the plane. Sometimes it was the little things that gave you the most pleasure, she decided, just before he turned her to face the wall and slid his hands up beneath her dress.
6
Matteo stirred onions that were almost caramelized as Marie came into the kitchen, her face soft from sleep. He turned and took her face into his hands, kissed her lips gently, and pulled away to look down at her.
“The smell wake you up?” he asked with another peck on her cheek before he turned back to the onions.
“What? No, I just woke up,” she scrubbed at her face and looked at the onions in the pan with a confused look. “Why can’t I smell the onions?”
“Pardon?” He turned his head back to her as she poured a glass of water at the sink on the other side of the counter.
“I can’t smell the onions.” She leaned back against the white marble counter of their new, temporary home, and sniffed as if to clear her nostrils. “I don’t have a cold, my nose isn’t stopped up, but I can’t smell anything.”
“Hm, that’s odd. Maybe it’s from the flight?” He thought about it for a minute and continued. “Maybe that’s plugged up your sinuses, but you just can’t feel it.”
“Maybe.” A smile replaced the frown she’d worn, and she moved to wrap her arm around his waist. “What’s for dinner?”
“A very simple curry in a jar, along with the pasta. I got them from that little store we stopped at in town. Not much, but it’ll fill us up and be warm.” He nodded at the table behind him. “Want to keep me company?”
“Sure. Where’s Anton?” She sat down in one of the simple pine chairs that matched the table. It was a large house with two floors, three if you counted the attic. Anton had taken up residence at the highest point and had spent the hour that Marie napped carrying up split wood for a small box-stove that would provide warmth up there.
“He’s having a look around the property, checking the fences. He’ll be back before dinner is finished.”
“Alright. Isn’t it strange how much colder it is out here?” She pulled at the cuffs of her flannel pajama shirt, her eyes searching for a heat source.
“I guess it’s the elevation,” he said as he put cubed chicken into the pan with the onions. “I’m not sure I’d like it getting cold so soon, it’s not even October until next week. But it seems a nice place.”
The house was a very fancy log cabin, but still a log cabin. The décor was rustic, male-oriented with a lot of hardwoods and dark browns and reds. Everything from the dark brown leather couch to the Navajo rugs on the floors, to the many deer heads on the walls, screamed a man had designed the place.