Page 94 of Mafia And Maid

CHAPTER 22

ROSA

Absentmindedly, I touch the tip of my finger to my bottom lip. The ghost of his lips brushes mine, leaving a wave of arousal rocketing through my body.

My skin tingles at the memory of his hot breath along the sensitive skin of my neck. Every nerve in me exploded when he kissed me, leaving something utterly changed in its wake.

He’d wanted me.Kissed me.What if he actually—

I shake my head, dismissing that line of thought.

It was a mistake.

It had to be a mistake. We were just caught up in the moment from the work out with our adrenaline running high.

I’m getting my hopes up for something that doesn’t exist. There’s no way that he’d ever find someone like me attractive or interesting enough to keep around.

Camillo can have his pick of anyone. Women must throw themselves at him left, right, and center. Why would he bother with me?

And even if something did happen, he’d find my lack of bedroom skills a complete turn off. I shudder as I remember what Grayden used to say to me about that.

The vase I’m dusting nearly slips from my fingers.Get your head together.For four days now, I’ve thrown myself into my work, avoiding him at all costs. I’ve taken to the more labor-intensive cleaning tasks—the things that are probably more seasonal or yearly. I’ve been deep cleaning rooms that never get used and steam cleaning carpets in rooms on the other side of the mansion where no one will disrupt me.

When I come out of my bedroom in the mornings, he’s still there with Mr. Fluffy, both sleeping on the floor outside the bedrooms to keep watch over Ethan and me. I shuffle past him as fast as I can after an awkward “good morning,” focusing on patting the dog so that I don’t have to look at Camillo. I’ve told him that he doesn’t have to do this every night, but he refuses to stop. As much as he pretends to not like the dog, I can tell that Camillo has a secret soft spot for the animal, and I often catch him sneaking treats to him when he thinks no one’s looking.

During the day, I’m in and out of the rooms before he even appears, especially at mealtimes. The food sits on the table, waiting for them, as I quietly make my way to another part of the mansion. I hear all about the funny jokes from Ethan later in the night. This is the new routine—I’ve told Ethan I still have work to do and will eat later.

Setting the vase back down, I quickly wash my hands and set about dinner prep. From a quick glance at the clock on the microwave, I’ve just enough time to get this done before Camillo comes back from the casino. And it’s plenty of time for me to relive the way my body heated against his...

I can’t believe how responsive I was to him. It was as if someone touched me with a live wire. His sandalwood scent fogged my brain and made me giddy as my stomach swooped.

I clear my throat. The more I relive it, the harder it is to remind myself that this is all a fantasy—one that continues to keep me up at night, my imagination running wild.

It was just a kiss. But I’ve never been kissed likethat. Consumed so completely and fully that it lingersdays later.

Shaking myself, I focus on the task before me. Ethan sits at the table quietly coloring, his legs swinging as he hums to himself, Mr. Fluffy next to him as his constant companion. They’re best friends now, and Mr. Fluffy is determined to keep watch over my little boy at all times.

It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen him since he arrived. And for that, I’m forever thankful to Camillo and his brothers. And because I don’t want this to change, it’s all the more reason to stay the hell away from Camillo until the awkwardness has settled.

I won’t ruin things for us here. Not when things are finally feeling like they’re right.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Ethan, knowing he won’t leave the table. Slowly, I make my way into the laundry room. The load still has a good twenty minutes to go. This will give me just enough time to finish prepping for dinner. Determined to finish well before anyone gets home, I hurry back into the kitchen.

“Hey, Ethan.”

The voice freezes me. My hand hovers above the bowl of marinated chicken, and my breathing picks up.

So much for avoiding him. Dread swims in my stomach as I swallow thickly. This isn’t happening. Why is he home early? Has something happened?

My heart races as I grab the bowl and pretend that I haven’t heard him enter the kitchen. I don’t spare a glance at the table where I know he’s sitting now.

I quickly wipe my damp palms on my jeans as Camillo and Ethan continue to talk in soft voices—something about the game they played the other day.

I can do this. Just act nonchalant. It’s clear we both regret what happened, and it isn’t going to be repeated. Despite how much I wish it would.

We’re both adults, and we can act grown up about this.

“What’s for dinner?”