I inhale deeply because it’s a loaded question, considering our history. “I’m not bad, Santino Rossi.”
“You look…well.” He says the last word like it pains him as his eyes drift down my body.
As my nipples harden beneath the fabric of my dress, I inwardly chastise myself because I shouldn’t be having these types of reactions around a man like Santino. Not anymore. I clear my throat to try to break this spell of sexual tension and nudge him with my elbow. “You look older.”
When he laughs, I do my best not to giggle. Again. God, how does this man shove me back into being a young, flirty twenty-something in a matter of seconds? Do I really need to remind myself who I am now?
Our attention is diverted as the cute bartender I chatted with earlier approaches. He sweeps my glass up into his hand and leans across the bar towards me. “Same as before, gorgeous?”
“Yes, Anthony.” I give him a knowing look, and he winks back at me.
When I turn my eyes back to Santino, he’s frowning as he watches the bartender retreat. “Friend of yours?”
The set to his jaw seems almost territorial, so I tilt my head and reply coolly, “Oh yes, Anthony and I go way back.”
Santino’s dark brows lift. “He seems like a nice bloke.”
“Yet something tells me you wouldn’t be friends with him.” I narrow my eyes up at him, grateful for this shift in conversation because I need to remind myself of the type of man Santino was when we knew each other years ago.
My response causes Santino to straighten from his propped position. He turns to face me. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh please, Sonny. It’s been a few years, but I remember what you were like when I lived in London. A party boy looking for connections in business and in bed. You only spoke to women whose knickers you wanted to get into and men who could elevate your status. You like that elitist, social-climbing London crowd.”
Santino makes a strange noise in his throat and turns to look out at the crowd. “Is that your impression of this lot? Even the Harris family?”
“God no,” I reply, my head jerking back. “No, they’re lovely and warm. But they hardly live in London.”
“Sorry?”
“They’re on the Eastend,” I respond, feeling my cheeks heat with my brazen cheekiness that now feels like it’s backfiring on me. “It’s a completely different culture.”
“And those in different parts of town?”
“Different breed.” I shrug knowingly. “I bet you still live in Mayfair, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Covent Garden then.”
“Wrong.”
“Grosvenor Square?”
“It’s nice there, but no. I moved into a flat in Bethnal Green just a few years ago. It’s a nice, quiet neighbourhood. And very convenient being closer to the club.” Santino takes a sip of his tumbler of amber liquid, and I find myself watching his thick neck as he swallows.
“Here you are, love,” Anthony interjects, and I nearly jump out of my skin as he catches me gawking at Santino’s Adam’s apple. Jesus Christ, Tilly…get your head on straight.
“Cheers,” I reply, taking my glass of clear liquid with a lime wedge. Turning, I press my back to the bar to watch the partygoers and hopefully keep my eyes off Santino’s throat. “So…you’re still working for Mac’s former club then?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“I am,” he confirms, thankfully letting go of our earlier conversation. “The job is a bit slow now that there are less Harris Brothers playing.” He laughs at his own joke just like he always did. “They kept me busy—a rambunctious lot, in case you didn’t know.”
“I’m getting that impression. They’re all very sweet, but they don’t seem to understand boundaries. Tanner asked me earlier if Freya had designed any knickers for cats. Bit strange since we’d only been talking all of nine seconds.”
Santino laughs knowingly as he adjusts his bow tie. “So, you’re here to save the day with Freya’s business endeavors?”
“Aye…just helping her out.” I shrug. “She’s done all the hard work. I’m just here to help her finish it all up.”
“That’s very generous of you.” He clears his throat. “Will you stay in London then after they have the baby?”
“Not sure,” I say with a frown. “Depends how everything turns out, I guess.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Did you enjoy living back in Dundonald?”
“Christ, no,” I reply quickly and take a nervous sip. “I mean, I didn’t mind seeing my family on a regular basis, but I hated my job there. And unless I wanted to drive to Glasgow every day, there wasn’t much opportunity for anything better. Plus, my friends there are all married and having bairns, so it just never felt like a good fit. Things have changed too much for me, I guess.”
I turn to find Santino’s deep, soulful eyes on me, and the intensity of them causes me to inhale sharply. He always had the most direct gaze I’d ever encountered. The rest of the world just magically disappears when he stares at me like he is right now.
“Things have changed around here as well,” he says softly, his voice guttural and full of something I’m not sure I want to decipher.
A heaviness descends between us. As he exhales, the cool wind of his breath hits my bare shoulder and travels all the way down my body, causing a ripple of liquid heat between my legs. This moment right here feels dangerous and full of wicked possibility.
It’s high time for me to go.
“It was nice bumping into you, Sonny.” I move to walk away, but Santino steps out to stop me.
His hand gently touches my forearm, and the contact feels like a thousand pins and needles erupting all over my flesh. “So that’s it then?” he asks, his face full of question.
“What else did you expect?” Licking my lips, I try to ignore the jitters vibrating in my nervous system as I force myself to look up at him. I’m trying to come off cool and confident, but his square jaw is peppered with dark, freshly shaved stubble, and I have a horrifying urge to feel it slide across my breasts.
His eyes search mine. “I thought maybe you and I could catch up. Have dinner or something?”
“No dates, remember?” I respond jokingly, feeling desperate to get away from him and the incessant flashbacks in my stupid head. “That was rule number two, wasn’t it?”
Santino jerks back as if I’ve just slapped him. “Tilly, that’s not at all what I meant.”
“You didn’t hope this could be a wee reunion for the two of us?” Lifting my brows, I hit him with a forced smile. “There was no moment when you thought we could get drunk and be each other’s late-night booty calls again?”
“Christ, no,” he exclaims, his eyes filling with horror.
Even though I didn’t want him to want me in the first place, his rejection wounds me. I want not to want him, and the fact he causes my body to inwardly convulse right now is really fucking inconvenient. I swallow nervously and try to think of something to say, but my bravado is faltering.
He must see my discomfort because he steps closer and says softly, “I just thought we could catch up as two old friends.”