Greatest Distraction (Distracted #1) (16 page)

“I want to say all of this, and I don’t want you to interrupt me,” he said, his posture strong and demanding, and hot as hell.
Focus!
I opened my mouth to tell him I would stay quiet, but his eyes narrowed to the point that I wondered if he could hear my thoughts. I didn’t speak my daydream aloud, did I? “Not a word,” he reiterated, and I nodded, clamping my lips together. He smiled, nodded, and started to talk.

“
So, I need you to know me, know the shit storm that will surround you the minute those pictures get made public. I know who you are, maybe not personally, but at least what the media has informed the world about you, and you should have the same benefit when it comes to me. To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t already know, until you told me you try to stay
out
of the flashing lights. Anyway, first, my mom is an Irish immigrant – she came here when she was a teenager, with the promise of a better life by a not-so-up-and-up man. Needless to say, it wasn’t what she thought it would be, and when she tried to run, she was beat up pretty badly. Insert my dad here. He ‘took care’ of the problem, much like he ‘takes care’ of things now, which I’ll get to, and she fell into his arms, lock stock, and barrel.

“My dad spoils my mom – diamonds, nice clothes, you name it,
she gets it. So, that said, it’s no surprise when they had me, he allowed my mom to name me what she wanted, with the exception that my last name was his and his alone, no hyphenations, no keeping her lineage alive. Only his. That’s how I came to be named ‘Brian Dane’ with the very Italian last name ‘Ranucci.’”

He had my full attention now. Even me, as sheltered as I tried to be, knew of the
Ranucci family in New York and the smaller sect in Chicago. They were one of the bigger mafia families in the United States, and my heart started to plummet. I’d never heard of Gianpaolo having a son, but that wasn’t unsurprising. For the most part, the family tried to blend in, except when they didn’t. My disappointment must have shown on my face, because Dane’s eyes look pained as he continued.

“I can tell by that look that you’ve
at least heard the name,” he paused and I nodded, following his directions in not interrupting him until he was finished. “Well, for years, I was lucky enough to fly under the radar – good thing, too, since when I was younger I had no clue what my dad did for a living. I actually thought he was a journalist for the Wall Street Journal for years. Anyway.”

I was starting to notice that every time Dane said ‘anyway’ or ‘so’ or ‘well’ it was as if he was using an eraser, clearing the things he’d just said so room for more could be added. He was also fidgeting, and my heart clenched a little, the urge to console him over a hurt I wasn’t sure of yet strong.

“My childhood was mundane, normal, just like everyone else’s. I had a doting mom, I never wanted for anything, and my dad was a pretty strong influence in my life. Then when I was about sixteen, he started asking me to deliver things to his ‘associates.’ I was curious one day and broke the rules by looking inside the brown paper bag he’d given me. There were names, times, and locations with big Xs by them and a stack of cash. Call me a rocket scientist, but it didn’t take one to figure out what it was. I flipped out, devastated and angry all at once. I disowned my dad and his way of life, moved out the day after my seventeenth birthday. Looking back now, it was probably a stupid decision – Gianpaolo would’ve had no qualms with axing me, if it hadn’t been for my mom.”

The sadness in his eyes was too much for me to bear, and I stood from my chair, making use of his lap. I curled up against him, my face buried in his chest and my hand tracing soothing circles on his back. He hesitated for only a moment before
wrapping an arm around my back and continuing.

“She saved my life, my mom. Somehow she managed to get dad to leave me alone, keep my trust fund, and still support me until I got on my feet and did it myself. The moment I graduated high school, I
applied at Ithaca College for a degree in architecture. To my surprise I got in, and a lot of student loans later, I graduated, top of my class. After that, things were pretty easy and the cards fell into place. A friend I’d met in class, and helped tutor, knew of someone selling their design firm in Brooklyn. I took out a loan, bought the place, and built Murdock Designs, my mom’s maiden name, from the ground up.

“The
rest, is history, pretty much. My firm has grown, higher than I ever thought possible, making me very comfortable money-wise. Before you ask, I haven’t spoken to my dad in eight years, other than the occasional greeting when I call home to talk to Mom. I refuse to be my dad, or be defined by the monster he is. Nor have I ever touched my trust fund, or any of his money. Unfortunately, when I show up in the tabloids, they still link me to him – and when I’m in the city, headlines like ‘
The Prodigal Son Returns?’
and shit get plastered everywhere.” Dane’s voice had gone soft, his shoulders almost slumping over me. I absolutely hated it, hated that his body language showed shame. Shame over something he had nothing to do with, over who he was instead of who he wasn’t. “I needed you to know, since it’ll come out in about,” he paused, checking his watch from around my back, “forty-five minutes.”

“Dane,” I started, grasping his face and turning him so I could see his eyes. I wanted him to know how serious I was when I spoke next. “I don’t care who your dad is, or your past. He doesn’t define you, only you can do that.”

The man beneath me shifted, moving his face from my hand, looking away. Where had the confident, self-assured, hotly-arrogant man who’d kissed me so fiercely earlier gone? This just wasn’t going to do. Repositioning myself, I slipped one leg on each side of Dane’s legs, straddling him. As easy as that, his focus snapped back to me, a question on his face and heat in his eyes. I only hesitated for a moment as I realized I was resting precariously on a very male part of him, before reaching up to cup his face once more.

“Brian,” I said, desperate to bring
my
Dane back, but he merely looked at me. Letting my instincts guide me, I pulled his head toward me, my lips hovering over his. I was waiting, waiting for an invitation, or a tilt of his head, anything to let me know he’d want me right now or if he was going to wallow in things he couldn’t change. After what felt like two hours, which was really only about ten seconds, he cocked his head to the side. I pounced, crushing my lips to his, forcing my tongue past the seam of his lips. Responding, his arms encircled me, pulling me even closer against him. He groaned into my mouth before lifting me, much like my earlier daydream, and depositing me onto the table.

I wrapped my legs around him, not letting space between us, and moaned as he ground against me. His lips were intoxicating me, his tongue searching
my mouth and his teeth occasionally nipping my upper lip. We parted for a moment and my eyes snapped open to find his, intense and focused.

“Tell me to stop,
Ryen,” he said hoarsely, his fingers tracing my cheekbone, my chin. Cradling my face in his hand, I kissed his thumb when he brought it to my lip, teasingly biting the tip. Dane growled, his grip growing firm on my face before he pulled my mouth back to his. I’d had no intention of telling him to stop; I wanted him, to hell with consequences or timeframe - we could deal with that later. There was something about this man that I wanted, needed, and intended to have.

Chapter Eleven
 

Fuck this man can kiss
, I thought as fire grew inside me. I squirmed against him, unable to help myself, and he broke our connection. A protesting sound escaped me, which was quickly silenced as he trailed soft bites and kisses along my neck, leading to the collar of my shirt.

“
Ryen,” Dane whispered, his hands playing along the hem of my tank top. I was delirious, unable to tell if he’d said my name in question, or protest, or want and need. Experience informed me it was a question and I answered by grabbing the fabric and slipping it over my head, letting it fall to the floor. The air on my bare breasts was cold along my sensitive skin, Dane’s breath a welcome heat, but I wanted more. Reaching between us, I tugged at his T-shirt, lifting it to get my point across. Thank all that’s holy he understood, and momentarily stepped back to shrug it off, my breath catching at the sight of his chest. Sure, I’d seen his abs earlier, but there was something so sexy about a nice chest, even with the tattoo inked over his heart.

Curious, I ran my hands over the smooth hardness of him, my fingers tracing the ink lines. They were words, Italian if I wasn’t mistaken. Something about mother and father, but that’s about my extent of the language. It was done well, though, the words looping amongst
themselves. Leaning forward I replaced my tracing finger with my tongue, following one of the lines before moving farther, capturing his nipple in my mouth and using my teeth to pull gently.

Dane moaned, his hand coming to cup my face for a moment, his
expression either telling me to stop or keep going, which, I couldn’t tell. His eyes were hooded, lust clear in them, and I started when he pressed his chest against my breasts, laying me back on the table. He stared for only a moment before allowing his mouth to capture one of my nipples, his hand moving to caress the other. My back arched involuntarily, thrusting my breasts upward and even farther in his mouth. He hummed appreciatively, the vibration causing me to groan. I could feel him growing through the thin fabric of my yoga pants, hard, enticing.
Why are we still wearing pants
, the voice in my head chimed in, for once completely in agreement with my libido. Just as I was about to do something about it, my phone started ringing on the bar counter and Dane hesitated.

“Ignore it,” I said breathlessly. In no way, shape, or form was I going to answer
it. Whoever it was, whatever it was about, could wait. I couldn’t.

Thankfully
Dane didn’t question my decision, instead turning his attention to my neglected nipple, one of his hands gripping my hip and holding me against him. I wanted to move, to grind, to do something to ease the build-up of sensation running through me, but I couldn’t. His grip was strong, leaving me completely pinned and immobile. It was hot as hell, and I relished in it as much as I despaired in it.

“Fuck, Dane, please.” I didn’t recognize my voice, almost begging him.
I’m not even sure what I was begging for, I just needed … more. Something.

“
Shhh, Ryen,” he cooed, his mouth leaving a warm trail as he placed kisses down my breastbone, moving toward my stomach. He had my card, and was holding it hostage. Asshole. Hot, irresistible, all man and mine, asshole.

His teeth playfully tugged at the folded top of my yoga pants, just as I felt vibrating against the leg I still had wrapped around him. The fog in my brain was slow to clear, and it took me a
while to register what it was. Dane, though, was quicker than I was. He stepped back as far as my leg would let him, and dug in his pocket to retrieve the vibrating cell phone. He glanced at the screen before looking at me. I’m sure my face was as desperate for release as I felt, and I could see the internal debate cross his features.

“Ignore it,” I repeated, reaching for him once again.

“Ryen…” he started, glancing back at the screen. “Fuck. If it was anyone else, I would, but it’s my mom. I’ve gotta take this. Don’t move,” he said, leaning over me and kissing my belly button. Propping up on my elbows, I watched at he answered the phone.

“Hey
, Mom,” he answered, his voice rough and still sexy as hell. I had the most absurd urge to cover myself, or my face, because surely she would know he was busy.

“Um, no
… I’m fine. What’s up? Oh, those.” He paced, but didn’t leave the room. Delight filled me that he felt comfortable enough talking to her in front of me … or maybe that’s just how he was. Aaron, wow it was getting easier to at least think his name, would leave the room every time he answered his phone.

“I’d have to talk to her
… Yes, Mom … I know, Mom …I told her this morning. Yeah. I do like her. Mom, it’s been a day and a half…”

I grinned, my face stretching so wide that it almost hurt. He just told his mom he liked me. Well, at least I’m assuming he meant me
… for all I knew he could have a harem of women, but I doubted it. He had said he told ‘her’ this morning … surely that was me. It was his timeframe that sealed it.
Yep, definitely talking about me.