“Do you always attack first, ask questionster?” Dom staggered toward the van and sat on the step up.


    “You surprised me,” I saidmely, even when relief swooshed through me. The boss of the De Li crime family wasn’t at the top of the list of people who wanted to do me harm despite the unfortunate incident when I identally shot him. Luckily he had on a bulletproof vest then, but every encounter with him since felt like a debt that needed to be paid.


    It didn’t help that he was ridiculously attractive, and his knowing appraisals always made me squirm. Although right now, I wasn’t sure why he was in front of me.


    “Same excusest time.” He red at me from beneath his bleeding brow. “We need to work on your nerves. You’re too jumpy.”


    Indignation ignited my temper. “My nerves are fine. You have the uncanny ability to startle me,” I whisper-yelled my outrage. I peered closer. “Let me see.”


    Dom lowered his hand to inspect the blood on it. “You’ve put a scar on my brow.”


    I rolled my eyes. Dominic “Dom” De Li was the New York mob’s fashion icon. Though no admission of belonging to the mafia was ever on record, it only increased public titition, especially the women who loved a bad boy. To add to his infamy, a popr men’s magazine awarded him New York’s Most Eligible Viin title for a second year in a row.


    Forget heroes, viins were in.


    “It’s not deep enough to require stitches.”


    Angling his body to the right, he exposed his white shirt underneath his dark suit. “It might not, but this might.”


    His white dress shirt’s entire left side was steeped in dark red.


    Realization dawned on me. “You were at Grigori’s poker game!”


    Instead of answering me, Dom muttered, “Come on.”


    “Come on, where?”


    He opened the passenger side door of the van and got in. I was still reeling for a silence of two seconds before blurting out, “I’m not driving you anywhere!”


    “Get in.” Dom propped his head against the headrest and, without looking at me, said, “I’m about to lose consciousness.”


    “Dom!” He was so aggravating. And I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. I didn’t want the responsibility of driving a wounded mafia don around, but I was also worried for him. And what if he died while in mypany?


    “Hurry up, beautiful. You’re the reason I’m bleeding out.”


    What did that even mean? And what was the deal with him calling me beautiful? I was always Sloane or Miss Scott to him. He must be delirious with blood loss. I mmed the van’s side door and hurried to the driver’s side. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”


    “No.”


    “I don’t want you dying in my van. You’re bleeding all over it.”


    I felt Dom’s gaze on me. Somehow, even in his weakened state, I could feel his humor drilling into me. “Are you worried about me messing up your van or me dying?”


    “Don’t get cute,” I mumbled.


    “Your home,” he said. “In Jersey.”


    “I know you don’t want to be questioned at the hospital, but Bianca’s house is closer and I can stitch you up there.” Bianca was his cousin who was married to Sandro, the current Rossi boss. The Rossi and De Li crime families used to have a cold war, but with the marriage between Bianca and Sandro, that had ended. I knew Sandro and Dom conferred with each other all the time, which made their house the most logical ce to drop him off.


    “I don’t want the Rossis involved. Those who need to know have my whereabouts.”


    “That you’re with me?”


    “Yes.” He raised his arm to point at the road that would take us to Jersey. “You better take this ramp on your next turn.”


    “You’re so bossy, even if you’re bleeding half to death,” I retorted. “It will take me an hour to get to Hoboken. I need to look at your wound.”


    “I’ll be fine. It stopped bleeding.”


    “You said you were bleeding out.”


    “I lied,” he grunted. “Stop arguing and just drive.” If he wasn’t in any way injured, hot mafia boss or not, I would leave him on the side of the road. But an edge sharpened his voice, hinting that he was trying to keep the mood light. After another twenty minutes, we entered the tunnel on our way to New Jersey.


    I shot him a quick nce. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed. The night had taken a weird turn, and I had a feeling I was in the middle of a power y. What did Dom mean by I was the reason he was bleeding out?


    I met himst year when I helped Bianca escape to prevent further esction of hostilities between the Rossis and the De Lis. But that wasn’t the end of it. As it turned out, someone in Sandro’s past hade for revenge, which resulted in Bianca getting kidnapped. During her rescue, I identally shot Dom. He had a supernatural ability to make me jumpy. Yet when he appeared tonight, the jitteriness I had felt during and after I left Grigori’s job faded. It was as if I was finally safe. Like Dom was my armor against the Russian bratva. Conflicting feelings seemed to be my default mode when it came to him. I tried to avoid him at De Li gatherings, but he always made his presence known. A secret smile would y on his lips. He would never approach me but watched me across the room. Like two months ago at Bianca and Sandro’s wedding, his burning gaze willed me to look at him. And I wasn’t imagining his attention because when I did nce at him, he raised his ss to me as if in a toast. I was a mouse, and he was the cat toying with me.


    But this? “You okay?”


    “I’m alive.”


    “Don’t be dramatic.”


    A chuckle reverberated in his chest as he shifted in his seat. A pained groan escaped him. “Don’t make meugh.”


    “I’m not.”


    “Now is the time to get rid of me if you want to.”


    The drive through the tunnel was smooth. He wasn’t wearing his seat belt, and I presumed it was so it wouldn’t rub against his left side. I was d that I’d disabled that aggravating sound that was a reminder to buckle up because I frequently put heavy loads on the passenger side.


    “Tempting,” I replied. “Anyone want you dead?”


    “How much time do we have?”


    “Wow, that many?” We had another thirty minutes to my apartment.


    My peripheral vision caught him turning to me. “Bad idea to confess to you.”


    “The Russians?”


    “No, my injuries are not because they want to kill me. At least, not Grigori.” He muttered something under his breath that sounded like “I hope.”


    “Kolya?”


    “What do you know about Kolya?”<fn1ba4> ???? ????s? ???????s ?? fin?novel</fn1ba4>


    “Nothing.” That was the right answer, even when I knew something. You learned not to give direct answers that coulde back to bite you in the ass when you were talking to anyone connected to the underworld. And Dom, despite his man-of-Wall-Street, trust-fund demeanor, was very much in the mob. “I probably don’t want to know why you’re bleeding out because of me.”


    “Oh, it’s really because of you.”


    “You defended my honor?”


    A quiet beat of tension descended and I could feel whatever scrap of humor get sucked out of the van. In its ce, a pulse of raw fury hit me from the side.


    “Is there a reason to defend your honor from the Russians?” His voice was gravelly, his breathing more ragged. I was tempted to pull over and check on him.


    “Well, you said it was because of me.”


    He exhaled a hiss of air. “Later. We’ll talk.”


    “How about we don’t,” I replied. We exited the tunnel and I made the turn toward Hoboken. “Look, I don’t know why you think I’m involved with whatever shit you have going with the Russians.”


    “Stop talking.”


    “Excuse me?”


    “Your voice,” he muttered. “Your voice makes me hard.”


    “What the fuck?” My cheeks med. “You did not just say that to me.”


    “Shit.” Dom gave a pained chuckle again. “me the blood loss.”


    “Shut up, then, so I will.”


    He grunted and shifted ufortably in his seat. I mped my mouth shut, irritated he had to remind me again of my disadvantage. Usually, I could regte the huskiness by staying hydrated, but nights like this when I was exhausted, there was no disguising the natural raspiness of my voice which an ex-boyfriend once described it like I’d screamed myself hoarse while he was giving me an orgasm.


    As if. Fake orgasm maybe.


    I concentrated on getting us quickly to my apartment and prayed that Dom was telling the truth and he wouldn’t expire in my van. Also, I didn’t think I could haul his…what? Six-four, two-hundred-plus-pound frame up to the fifth floor.


    It was just luck a Ford sedan pulled out a block from my building. I lived in a busy neighborhood and it was a Friday night…well, Saturday morning already. There were folksing home from one-night stands or a booty calls.


    I gave myself a mental shake at my jadedness.


    I cut off the engine. “You need help getting out?”


    “No.” He shoved his door open.


    Still, I made it to his side before he fully cleared the van.


    “I’m fine,” he gritted. “Lead the way.”


    I held up my arms in surrender—for my own mental health and I’d practiced this enough with my brother. If a man said he was fine, he was fine. I never wanted to read between the lines, and I didn’t know Dom well enough to waste a brain cell wondering if it was his Italian machismo that made him resist my aid. I walked ahead of him toward my building. A rent-control ruling enabled me to afford it at a reasonable price. I was doing better financially, but I was by no means swimming in cash. Lost in my annoyance with my brother and the Russians, I failed to notice that Dom wasn’t walking in a straight line. Just as I turned to him, his right foot snagged at the edge of a step. It wasn’t a tall step, but Dom lost his bnce and disappeared into the hedges.


    My mouth fell open, blinking at the sight of one of the most feared mafia bosses in New York in an utterly undignified position.


    Chest heaving, I tried to fight theughter bubbling up my throat.


    I failed.


    Laughter erupted straight from my belly, the force of my amusement so huge, it was like the sight of Dom struggling to get up from the bushes sent a pin to a distended tension balloon that finally found release.


    With tears in my eyes, I approached his t-on-his-back form. He was cursing and grunting, but his struggles got him nowhere.


    “Oh my God, are you all right?” I asked a coherent question in between fits of humorous exhtions.


    His re sliced me into ribbons. “I can’t believe you’reughing. Help me up.”


    I extended my arms and braced my legs while sucking in my spine. An instinct honed from years of hauling heavy things around, including people. That was why when I did my clinical hours, especially in assisted living homes, I was a favorite.


    Dom gripped my hands, and I gave him a heave out of the bushes. Our bodies collided. I lost my breath and became very aware of the heat of his body stered to me like I was beside a furnace. We’d never been this close. I kept my eyes level with his chest. A sassy reply refused to form. Words dried up in my throat. His arms swooped around me, his hands molding to my waist before sliding down my hips. I wasn’t sure if it was to steady himself, or he was copping a feel. A pulse of excitement made itself known below my belly.


    Dammit. No. No.


    His gaze was intent. He was breathing as hard as I was, and this close, I caught a whiff of breath mint. I attempted to pry myself away, but he hauled me back against the hard length of him.


    I couldn’t do this.


    I wasn’t going to get mixed up with Dom. I would patch him up and call him a ride if I had to.


    I swallowed and tried to speak, but no words woulde. A connection short-circuited between us, and he was aware of it, too. I wasn’t na?ve. I was aware of my looks and he already said I made him hard in the van.


    My amusement still hovered, making it hard to keep a straight face. It probably saved us from a point of no return. It was Dom who spoke first.


    “Not a word,” he breathed. “That was embarrassing.”


    I could only nod as a silentugh shook my chest.


    “I fell and could have had a concussion and youughed at me,” he said in an exaggerated, wounded voice.


    Bianca once said that Dom was a drama queen, a trait he inherited from the Moretti side of the family.


    “Do you need help to walk now?” I tried to injectpassion into my voice.


    A man exiting the building saved him from answering. It was Phil Harding, my neighbor who looked like he lived in the gym. He’d asked me out on a date once, but I declined. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. He said he was in sales.


    “Everything all right?” he asked. “Saw you took a tumble into the bushes, man.”


    Oh my God, he had to point it out.


    Dom tightened his arms around me. An air of possessiveness fuming from his side.


    “He had a bit too much to drink,” I put in hastily. “Can you hold the door open, Phil?”


    “Sure, doll.”


    Dom grunted as we passed my neighbor. He was still stered to my side, but he didn’t say another word. I hoped he wasn’t plotting Phil’s demise. Working with the mob, I knew a few of them were on a trigger and the slightest provocation could mean death. But I also knew the De Lis were of the more reasonable breed. I had no clue about the Moretti side of the family except Dom’s uncle, who, ording to Bianca, had the violent streak of a sociopath.


    Although someone once said to be in the mafia, you had to be part sociopath.


    “I’m on the fifth floor,” I told Dom. “And I wouldn’t trust the elevators.”


    Another grunt.


    Okay, then.


    We made our way up the staircase. I was on his right side. His uninjured side. He had one arm around me while the other was holding the banister. At around the third floor, his weight sagged in to me.


    “Want to rest?”


    A clipped “No” was his answer, so we soldiered on. As we neared my floor, I was wondering about my stupidity in taking Dom home with me. What if he coded in my apartment or died? I sure as hell wasn’t calling an ambnce or the police. Kolya’s face shed through my head. Nope. I would have to call Sandro. Having a Rossi mediate between me and the De Lis…that I was not responsible for Dom’s death.


    I tripped on one of the steps and nearly sent us careening backward.


    “What the—” he muttered. “Are you trying to kill me?”


    “Believe me, that’s thest thing I want.” We reached the fifth floor and thankfully my apartment was the second door. I had three other neighbors. All of us had one-bedroom apartments. It was a relief when I let us into my ce. I turned on the hallway lights, took off my hat, and swiped the perspiration off my forehead. I was a tad out of breath.


    “Okay, let me see.”


    Dom just stared at me. His hands by his sides.


    “What?” I pointed at his side. “Let me see.”


    He quirked a brow. “No forey?”


    “Dom,” I growled. “I’ve had a trying night, all right? Having to take care of a prima donna don wasn’t on my bingo card tonight.”


    “Are you saying I’m high maintenance, Miss Scott?”


    There went my nipples with the seductive way he said Miss Scott. What is wrong with me?


    Thankfully, he started stripping. Rather, he shrugged off his suit jacket, and, even injured, he made it look sexy. Mentally shaking off my attraction to him, I focused on the task at hand. His upper left arm was bleeding too, and he was slow in unbuttoning his shirt.


    I stepped forward. “Let me do it.”


    He didn’t argue, and I did my best to ignore the heat emanating from his body, the way his breath feathered my hair or how my heart rate elerated because of it. When his white dress shirt came off to reveal an undershirt, I helped him out of it, too. I slid into clinical mode, even when it was hard to ignore all the tanned skin and glorious ridges of muscle.


    “I’ll throw this in theundry for you. Your dress shirt is probably ruined. Come on.”


    I dragged him into the bathroom where the lights were brighter and left him standing there to retrieve my emergency kit from under the sink. I hadn’t turned away from him two seconds before the sound of the shower turned on.


    His fingers went to his trouser buttons.


    “What are you doing?” I snapped.


    “Getting clean.”


    “Let me check your cut first.”


    He rolled his eyes and waited for me to walk back to him. His arms hung loosely by his sides. Iid my kit on the counter and flipped the lid open to retrieve the mag light.


    “You’re a terrible patient, you know that?” I shined the light on the sh at his side and palpitated the surrounding area.


    “Any pain?”


    “Not really. It just stings.”


    The cut was still oozing blood, but it had slowed. It was deep, but not deep enough to do internal damage. Dom’s ab muscles saved him.


    “You’re lucky.”


    I grabbed a single-use soap from the kit. “Use this to clean yourself. It’s antibacterial.”


    All the while, I avoided looking at his expression, but it was getting too obvious that I was ufortable to be alone with a half-naked Dom. I lifted my gaze, deliberately bypassing his exposed chest—damn those corded muscles of his shoulders—and settled on his face.


    “You need me to help you remove your pants?” I gritted.


    His eyes were ssy, and for a moment, I sympathized with him, but the arrogant smirk forming at the corner of his mouth chased away all my goodwill.


    “It’ll help. Also, maybe you want to throw my boxers in theundry too?”


    I narrowed my eyes. “What exactly are you saying?”


    “You’re a nurse, right?”


    “A nursing student.”


    “What would you say to a patient who has my injury?”


    I grabbed a towel from under the cab andid it on the vanity.


    “Take off your clothes and put this on.”


    He raked his teeth over his bottom lip. Dom didn’t move a muscle, but his gaze was veiled and his mouth twitched. “This should be interesting.”


    Why was I still staring? I pivoted and escaped the sudden suffocating confines of the bathroom, shockingly inadequate to contain Dom’s overpowering presence.


    I closed the door and leaned against it.


    I let the devil into my domain and his name was Dominic De Li.


    What have I done?