Phantom's Baby: A Mafia Secret Baby Romance (Mob City Book 3) by Holly Hart

forehead.
    A horrible suspicion began to brew in my gut that this was all some kind of sick joke. That I was a pawn in a game he was playing for a reason known only to himself. Perhaps I was just a punch line, or the result of a bet.
    That doesn't make sense . You saw his face when you turned that corner . You were the last person he expected to see .
    Val's admission that he hadn't touched a girl since we had our fling had shaken me to the core. I wanted to believe, wanted so much to believe it was true – but I couldn't. No, wherever Val, with his full six foot two height, line-backer shoulders and wolf grey eyes – that seemed to pore over every crack and crevice in my soul – had been, I knew that he must have been swamped by eager suitors.
    There had to have been women trying to catch his eye, dressing tighter, shorter, working out more in the hope of winning the lottery. I knew it was true because I couldn't keep my own eyes off of him. Just the sight of him was a drug, a siren song, that compelled me to take him inside my veins.
    I pressed my legs together, and my eyelids flickered shut as the memory of his touch swamped my brain. Our hurried teenage relationship, with him fleeing his father's baleful glare, and me mine. The stolen kisses we shared; brief, passionate trysts in hotel rooms; or on a beach by the sea. The way he tugged the hair at the back of my neck as we lay together; the feel of his stubble, already thick at seventeen, brushing against my ear lobe. My legs clenched together unbidden, and my cheeks glowed with heat.
    "Jesus, girl," I groaned, opening my eyes to the sight of a woman whose skin was red with lust. "What's the plan here? Are you going to go into that stall and take care of yourself?"
    I cocked my head. In all honesty, that didn't sound too bad…
    Pull it together .
    I splashed water on my face – half expecting to hear it sizzle – careful to avoid my makeup. The last thing I needed was a streak of black mascara running down my face to scream out how ill-suited I was to this place.
    It helped, some, to hide the redness on my cheeks. It did nothing to salve the budding heat between my legs, nor the two nubs of fire that sparked into life on my chest every time I so much as breathed.
    "You're going to go out there, thank him for dinner, and go home," I said, shuffling my bra as I spoke. The words sounded plaintive and unconvincing, even to me, so I tried again. "He had a gun in his hand when you saw him. You really think that's what you need in your life right now?"
    I adjusted my bra strap one last time, cursing inside my head the plainness of my underwear. It was matching, at least, and black – but nothing quite as seductive, nor as silky as the suspender sets that I imagined most of the women dining in the restaurant tonight were wearing. Mine was only matching in the sense that I got a five dollar set on sale at Wal-Mart, for just three bucks. The bra wire was already threatening to rub free, and the less said about the state of the lace, the better…
    But he's never going to see it, right? So it doesn’t matter…
    …right?
    I ran a towel over my face, tossed it in an empty basket, and returned to the table.
    As the bathroom door swung closed, and I entered the restaurant proper, a quiet hum of conversation caressed my ears. It sounded different to the room I'd left a couple of moments before – softer somehow. As I approached Val, guided by his enormous, muscled back that peeked over his chair, I saw why.
    Every woman in the place had her eyes glued to my date, while a dozen boyfriends, husbands and, perhaps, clients, were left twirling pasta moodily around with their forks, or else left pushing food around their plates – ignored. It mattered not whether the women, beauties all, were paid to be here, or if they were here for love. None could keep their eyes off him.
    That was until I joined him. Then their hungry gaze turned on me, as one, and became something uglier –