The Woman on the Jury (Costa Family #7) Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: Costa Family Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
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Then he stopped short, and turned back toward me.

“But first…” he said, his hand reaching out, fingers teasing the edge of the robe where it slipped down between my breasts.

I would love to pretend that I didn’t brush him away because of fear. But I would be lying through my teeth about that.

I think I froze at first from surprise.

Then, as I felt his knuckles tease my skin as his fingers drifted down, yeah, it wasn’t fear or surprise that was coursing through me.

It was a pulsating, aching need.

I didn’t even have time to analyze why it was that sort of white-hot desire.

Because the next thing I knew, his fingers were in the tuck of my belt, yanking it free.

And just like that, the robe split, exposing me completely.

Cosimo towered over me, smelling way too damn good, his dark gaze looking down at my body, naked save for my panties that I’d washed in the sink and blown dry before my shower.

And was that… heat in his gaze?

His breath escaped with a kind of muted growling sound.

Then his head was shaking.

“Even better than I imagined,” he murmured.

Then he was out of the door.

I hadn’t even covered myself up when he’d pulled the door open wide.

I couldn’t seem to do anything but lean on the wall for support because my legs felt a little shaky.

I always thought that was an exaggeration of fiction. Shaky legs. I’d never felt it before.

Until now.

The need that was coursing through me was bordering on painful, and I pressed my thighs more tightly together to ease the ache between. I tried like hell to come up with a single rational explanation for why I was reacting to what should have felt like a violation like I was.

I couldn’t seem to come up with anything.

So I just forced myself to move back into the bathroom, ignoring that pressure deep in my core, and getting myself dressed.

Finished, and somehow not even the tiniest bit less turned on, I made my way downstairs, stopping in at the buffet to grab something to toss into my bag for later.

I’d checked out on my phone while I waited in line at the buffet, so I walked right past the desk, and looked around the lobby.

Cosimo was right.

There was no mistaking him.

The expensive dark gray suit. The shined shoes. The watch. Even the posture. And, of course, the slicked back black hair that kind of reminded me of greasers in the 50s.

“Ah, hey,” I said, feeling weird addressing him. Which was funny because he was clearly, rank-wise, beneath Cosimo, and I’d had no problem first approaching him.

Though, objectively, that might have been because I was so upset and scared when I’d barged into that bar after finding a news article that talked about Cosimo Costa frequenting a little dive bar a few blocks from his luxury penthouse apartment.

“There you are,” the man said, his accent just a little stronger than I’d expected. “Halle, right?” he asked, though he clearly already knew.

“Right,” I agreed.

He was attractive, and he had the kind of carriage that suggested he knew that about himself.

He was younger than Cosimo, though. Maybe in his mid-twenties instead of thirties.

“Miko,” he said, giving me a nod. “You ready to head out?”

“Ah, yes,” I said, falling into step with him as he held out a hand like he might touch my lower back, but not actually doing it.

“Where you going?” he called when, outside the doors, I turned in the direction of the subway. “Here,” he said, gesturing toward a sleek black car parked at the curb.

“Oh,” I said, shaking my head at the absurdity of having a car in the city. I mean parking was a bitch. It seemed like a complete headache to me. “Right,” I added, sliding in as he held the door open for me.

The inside was somehow even nicer than the outside, with a control panel that belonged in a spaceship, not a car.

“Don’t freak out if your ass starts to feel warm,” Miko said after getting into his seat, and hitting some buttons on the screen of the control panel. “Got butt warmers in the seat,” he added as he craned his neck to check the traffic. I wasn’t sure why he bothered, though, because he pulled out into it recklessly, getting a chorus of honks from everyone already on the street. “Don’t gotta grab the Oh, Shit bar,” he said, smirking as I gripped the handle above my window with white fingers. “Never been in an accident in my life.”

“Just caused them then,” I said before I could think better of it, but Miko just shot me a smirk at that.

“Think we’re gonna get on just fine,” he said.

I didn’t bother asking how he knew to head in the exact direction of my shop. These were guys who’d managed to track me down at a hotel. Of course they knew where I worked.


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