Craving Carlo (The Adamos Book 3) Read online

  And so it’s just the two of us when I suddenly become aware that we’re not alone, and that the others present aren’t his men. There’s nothing to see but shadows, but I know they’re not empty. I go very still, at the same time registering the too-empty silence coming from the other rooms in the building.

  When Carlo’s men start to materialize, silent as wraiths, from every corner of the room, I don’t feel relief. Not yet. Gagarin senses them before he sees them and quick as a snake, he’s out of his chair and coming at me.

  Time does one of those freeze-frame things. I’m not even aware of moving, yet somehow the pencil in my hand flips around so my fist is wrapped around it, holding it point outward like a stake. And as Gagarin closes on me, hand outstretched, I stab the pencil deep into the fleshy part of his palm.

  He roars in pain, his face twisting as the mask disappears, the monster inside showing through. I’ve only slowed him for moment, but that’s enough. The next instant he’s face down on the floor, his hands being fastened behind him. And then a pair of strong arms encircles my body and pulls me back against a broad chest.

  31

  Believe It

  I drop the notepad, turn, and burrow into Carlo’s body, letting him crush me against him for a long moment. “You’re here,” I say in a shaky voice. You’re alive.

  “Had every cop in the city looking for you, Firestorm out on their bikes, and mine, Tonio’s, and Kosta’s guys going nuts. I put a tracking device in your purse, but they left it at the restaurant.” His grip tightens and I hold on as hard as I can. “Then Marco clocked two of Gagarin’s right-hand men driving around — and followed them to a fucking art supply store.”

  Eyes closed, I don’t fight the smile that’s spreading across my face. From the sounds around me, I’m dimly aware that Gagarin’s being taken away. With Carlo’s heat and strength surrounding me, I don’t think at all for a few minutes.

  And then I do, and look up at him. “They shot you.”

  “Flesh wound, babe.” His hands frame my face. “Not fun, but not lethal. I’m fine.”

  Relief makes me giddy. “I think you should take it easy for a few days. Put your feet up. Drink lots of liquids.”

  His eyes are bright with suppressed laughter. “I appreciate the thought. And if you’re offering to help me feel better, I can give you some suggestions.”

  “I’m sure you can.” Holding hands, we make our way toward the exit, ignoring the cops swarming the scene. Until I glimpse one who seems somehow familiar.

  Tall, dark, broad shoulders … “Who’s that?” I say to Carlo, with a tilt of my head as we pass the man.

  “My cousin Lando.”

  Of course he is. Adamos everywhere. An abundance of alpha males doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore.

  “Gina,” Carlo says as we reach the exit. It’s twilight, the sky a faint rosy shade. “What the fuck were Gagarin’s guys doing at the art store?”

  My lips twist into a smirk that I try unsuccessfully to suppress. “He wanted me to paint him. So of course I needed the proper supplies.”

  Carlo stops and stares at me. “Paint him?”

  So I explain, and get the wide flash of his smile. “Genius.” He pulls me to him and gives me a quick kiss. “Fuckin’ genius.”

  “He told me you were dead,” I say, and my voice only quavers a little as we start toward his car. “But you told me, head games, so I knew. I knew you’d come. I just had to stall.”

  “My girl’s a survivor.”

  At that, I stop again. We’re on the sidewalk, men passing us in all directions. It’s basically the most public setting possible, and it doesn’t matter. “Am I?” I whisper.

  “Hell, babe, you’ve been through more already than a lot of people face in a lifetime.”

  “Not that part. The other part.”

  His eyes get warm, and then Carlo hauls me against him and gives me another kiss, a long, deep, wet one, right in the middle of that sea of alpha males. When he finally stops, my knees are weak. With one arm wrapped around my waist and his hand tangled in my hair, his eyes locked on mine, he says, “You better believe it, angel.”

  And I do.

  Epilogue

  “I’m gonna hurl,” I say.

  “No you’re not,” Erin counters.

  “I am. I really am.”

  “It’s okay if you do,” Cait says. “Just don’t get it on your clothes. You’re supposed to be out there in five minutes.”

  Where the hell is Carlo? Some complicated investigation took him out of town, but he promised me he’d be back in time.

  As if reading my thoughts, Mickey says, “He’ll be here.” She exchanges a quick glance with Cait and Erin, and I know what they’re thinking: I’m going to have a total meltdown if I have to go out there without him.

  And they’re right.

  In the last six months, survivor Gina has morphed into marshmallow Gina. Instead of being tough and independent, I’m soft and squishy and melt when I’m warm. Carlo says letting people in isn’t weakness. I hope he’s right, because he’s so far into me now I think he’s invaded my DNA.

  The day after our dinner at Luigi’s, Carlo moved us into the master bedroom. Next, he talked me into cutting back my hours at the café. Instead of working full time plus, now I’m only there part time.

  After that, he and Tonio and Kosta threw a combined twenty-first birthday party for me and Cait and Erin. People are still talking about it. It was awesome, but the best moment was when Carlo gave me a kitten. He’s black with green eyes and I named him Verdigris.

  Finally, he persuaded me to use some of my newly freed-up time to do more work in the studio than sketches. He did this in part by “camping out” with me on the floor up there, on mats, in sleeping bags. Despite this, sleep was not really on the agenda.

  He got his hands on a copy of the list I made for Gagarin, and talked to some people in the art department at school, and outfitted the room with every imaginable kind of art supply. Oils, acrylics, watercolors, pastels — whatever I wanted to do, I had the materials for. There were a frenetic few weeks where I did everything, diving into all the different techniques and materials and styles that I’d only been able to dabble in to a limited degree before.

  Once I started to hone in on my favorites I settled into a more regular schedule, but I still painted every day. It was like the creativity fairies had taken over my body; the work was just pouring out of me. Within three months, I had canvases stacked along the walls.

  Which is when Carlo brought his cousin Isabella over for a visit. She owns Diamante Gallery, and I got home from work one day to find her and Carlo up in my studio — my studio — with my canvases scattered all over the place, propped up against every available surface while she studied them. She even had my charcoal sketches and drawings out.

  I told Carlo I was going to strangle him, not even in his sleep. Then Isabella told me she wanted to give me my own exhibition. And then I freaked out.

  Which brings us to now, and me being sure I’m going to hurl if I have to go out there and face a gallery full of people judging my work without him here to support me. See? Total marshmallow.

  There’s a tap on the door, and Isabella comes in with Carlo behind her. He’s showered and changed and is wearing his killer black on black, and he is the most delectable man in the whole universe. Before he can get a word out, I fly straight past Isabella and into his arms.

  He pulls me close, and everything in my world settles into place. I hear a chorus of sighs behind me. Cait and Erin are happy that I’ve joined them in the crazy club of women who are gone over Adamo men, and Mickey, she’s just happy for me.

  “We’ll … just … wait in the hall,” Isabella says. A moment later, we’re alone.

  “I missed you,” I say to his chest, where my face is buried.

  “Missed you too, babe.” The hand at my back slides down to my ass and I get tingles. “Wanna blow this joint?”

  I let ou
t a giggle. Me, giggling. “I think that would be considered impolite. I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to go out there and mingle with people and act like an artist. Whatever that means.”

  “You are an artist,” he says. “So whatever you do, you’re acting like one.” He gives me a squeeze. “Pretty sure I read that artists have quickies in galleries during their shows, though.”

  “Carlo,” I say, laughing, and whatever I was going to say next is lost because he tips my head up and gives me a long, thorough, panty-melting kiss. By the time he lifts his head, a quickie right here and now doesn’t sound ridiculous at all.

  He reaches behind him and locks the door. We’re in a combination storage/utility room, with a sink and a counter along one wall. Five seconds later, we’re by the sink and my back is to his front, while he nibbles down my neck and his hand steals under my dress and into my panties.

  “So wet for me,” he says when he touches my slick flesh. “Love that, babe.”

  “Quick, baby.” I’m breathing hard already, so eager for him. Carlo hikes up my dress and tugs down my panties, bending me over so my hands are braced against the edge of the counter. His heat nudges my entrance, and then he fills me, hot and thick and perfect.

  It’s impossible for me to be quiet at moments like these, so he covers my mouth with his hand. That makes everything even hotter. I’m moaning and crying out and biting him while he spears into me, hard and fast, driving me up like a turbocharged rocket. I come hard, too — and fast, and repeatedly, because Carlo’s not done.

  At the end, I clamp down on him so tightly that he has to stop for a moment. One more thrust, two, three, and he pours himself out, leaving me weak and sticky and ecstatic, not to mention gloriously relaxed.

  When we’re cleaned up and I’ve reapplied my lipstick, I tell him, with a languorous smile, “You are better than any drug. Not that I would know from personal experience, but I’m willing to testify anyway.”

  His lips curve. “I like taking care of my girl.”

  “And you’re so good at it.” I stop at the door and lean into him, looking up. “I love you, Carlo Adamo.”

  “Love you too, angel.” He brushes his knuckles over my cheekbone. “Let’s go get this done so we can go home.”

  And we do.

  <<<<>>>>

  Also by Mia Madison

  The Adamos

  Tempting Tonio — Book 1

  Kissing Kosta — Book 2

  And keep an eye out for the 4th book in the Adamo series, coming in January 2017!

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  Wondering if you’ve missed any? Check out Mia’s Amazon author page for the complete list.

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  In the mood for something decadent, delicious, and provocative? Meet Mia Madison, purveyor of Forbidden Fantasies Romance. Come in, sit back, and relax. The candles are lit, and the dancing shadows on the wall promise sexy, seductive tales of spine-tingling love, leading to a pleasure-drenched happy-ever-after.

  You'll discover young women eager for experience, who have scorching encounters with older men who know exactly what they're doing between the sheets. In Mia Madison's world, anything can — and does — happen. So leave your inhibitions at the door and come along for the ride.

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