Page 59 of Mafia Obsession

“I’m getting proper clothes for you in Santorini. It’s warm there this time of year, but for now, you can wear this.” From a closet, he takes out a blush-colored silk sleep shirt and matching lounge pants.

I cringe, thinking I have to wear another woman’s pajamas as well. But then I see tags. These are new.

“Thank you.” I take them from him.

“The bathroom is stocked with enough necessities for you to be comfortable for one night. Toothbrush, lotions, cleaning wipes. The shower has soap and shampoo. And I believe there is a hairdryer in the vanity.”

“You keep this stocked for all the women you bring on here?”

He stands to his full height. “You’re jealous?”

Ares already confessed his feelings, words he could never take back. I guess I am obtuse, like he said earlier in the car.

It should be okay to admit howIfeel. “Yeah, I am.”

Grinning, he leans in and says, “My cousin Lucia, the one from the restaurant, and her sister use this plane.”

“Oh.” I swallow, feeling stupid.

I remember the hostess who was rude to me at his cousin’s restaurant. The one who told me Ares would use me and toss me aside. I would say being flown to Santorini on his jet in the middle of the night is a far cry from being tossed aside.

“I love that you’re jealous.” He presses his lips to my forehead and then steps back. “Get changed and meet me on the sofa right outside the door when you’re ready. Take your time.”

I nod and watch the door close. When it clicks shut, reality hits me all at once. My legs don’t feel steady. I press my hands flat against the wall until they do.

I want to be strong and act like I have some power in this situation. But I don’t.

I remove my sweater and jeans, but stop to look at the sleep clothes for an extra second before putting them on.

The soft nightgown slides across my skin, and my brain melts at the feel of soft silk on my arms. It comes to just above my knees. I glance at the mirror and am shocked that I don’t look more wrecked.

I slide the door open, and Ares is waiting for me. No jacket, no tie, white shirt with the top buttons undone. His shirt is molded against a perfect male body, and the raw silk stretches across enormous biceps.

He catches me staring. “Are you comfortable?” he asks.

“Quite.” I absentmindedly run my hands up the sleeve of the night shirt. “Where are you sleeping?”

“This sofa opens up.” He waves a hand at it.

He’s well over six-feet tall, and this ishisplane. He’s a grown man who’s made his feelings for me crystal clear. If he wanted to sleep in that bed with me, he would do it and not give me a choice.

But he’s giving me his bed and letting me sleep alone.

Moving my eyes to the window over the sofa, I ask, “Where are we?”

“About eight hours away from Greece.” He moves closer to me and speaks low. “You’re safe. I promise.”

“I know,” I say, nodding. “Part of me knows anyway.”

“The part that matters.” He reaches for me and strokes my hair. “Try to get some sleep.

“Good night, Ares.” I kiss his cheek and step back.

He softly grips my shoulders. “Tomorrow, I may not give you an option to move away.”

A shared breath is released between us. I don’t doubt that. But he lets me go.

“I may not want to move away,” I whisper and close the door behind me.