“Shh.” I clasp a hand over her mouth. “You don’t want anyone walking around here to see us, do you?”
She whimpers in agreement and wiggles her ass against me.
“Good girl.” I close my eyes, willing myself to see her again. To picture Denver. “From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you.” I graze my teeth along her neck, delighting in her shiver. “So confident, yet so pure.”
She whimpers again and this time the sound is masked by my palm.
“I’ll make sure you never forget me.” I hitch her skin-tight dress higher with my free hand, dragging the material over her thighs to her waist, then yank at the flimsy string of underwear until it breaks. “You’re mine.”
“Oh, wow. You’re so dominant.” She tilts her head away from my hold on her mouth, glancing at me over her shoulder. “When did you first notice me? Was it tonight or has this been going on for a while?”
“Quiet.” I speak through clenched teeth. Through pure frustration. “Don’t talk.”
“But I need to know. I want to understand.” Her words continue to run a mile a minute. “How long have you been obsessed with me?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Clench my teeth. Shit.
My cock falls limp like a turncoat little bitch.
After dealing with a day-long half-mast dick, the fucker decides no flags will be flying tonight.
Fucking great.
“This was a mistake.” I step back, my jaw tight with tension, my palms slick with sweat. I should’ve fought this shit out instead of trying to fuck it.
“No, it’s not.” She turns, her mound on display. “I want this. I really want this.”
She’s nothing like Denver. I don’t know how I convinced myself otherwise. Her makeup is overstated. Her clothing cheap and tawdry. And that face. Jesus. What the hell was I thinking?
“Cover yourself and return to your friends.” I right my jacket. “This isn’t happening.”
“But I want it to.” She grabs my lapels, attempting to drag me into her. “I’m so horny.”
I snatch her wrists. Tight. Her mouth gapes with the impact, her eyes wide. “I said, this isn’t fucking happening.” I shove her arms away. “So lower your goddamn dress and go find your friends.”
She blinks. Slow. Stupid.
“Fucking walk,” I growl.
She snaps rigid, her chin hitching a notch. “Fuck you.” She glares as she scrambles to lower the hem of her dress. “You’re crazy.”
No argument there.
“You’re a piece of shit, too.” She raises her voice, no doubt attempting to bait me into an argument. “Fucking weirdo.”
The bartender comes into view at the end of the hall, his eyes on me. “Everything all right, boss?”
“We need security.” I start toward him.
“You wanted me, motherfucker,” the woman rails. “You wanted me.”
No, I wanted Denver.
This piece of fluff is nothing in comparison.
The bartender jerks his chin at me in understanding, then focuses on the woman as I continue walking away. “I think you need some fresh air.”
“I don’t need anything, you son of a bitch.”
I don’t listen to the rest of her plight. I get the fuck out of the VIP area, opening the door to the consuming noise of the lower level, then don’t stop until I’m in my car.
The days pass. The obsession doesn’t.
I can’t quit going over my time with her, rerunning our conversation, trying to work out her angle. If she’s a scorned lover, why eavesdrop in a packed restaurant? Why risk being recognized?
I don’t bother attempting to sate myself in another woman. Instead, I shuffle my tight schedule and fly back across the country.
I return to the Italian restaurant where the Costas have a weekly standing reservation and make my way through the staff entrance at the back. Emmanuel may have claimed his favorite seat in the house, but I’m the one who pays to watch every minute of his meals.
“You’re back sooner than usual.” The head chef shoots me a glance as he flips something in a sizzling frying pan. “I might be able to retire early if you keep this up.”
“Maybe.” I slip a folded stack of cash into his pocket as I pass and continue to the swinging doors leading to the dining area with Bishop at my back.
Usually, I don’t have to make my presence known. I can sit in my rental from the street out front and eavesdrop on their conversation via earpiece thanks to the listening device under their table. But this time, I’m not here for them.
It’s her I’m after. The woman who doesn’t fucking show.
I’m forced to walk out of there like a chump while Bishop wordlessly questions my motives, his judgmental stare increasing my annoyance.
I repeat the trip the following Wednesday, my impatience building when dreams of blue eyes haunt me on the daily. It’s not normal. Denver triggered something and I’m not sure how to shut that shit off. But again, she doesn’t show.
By the third week, I’m agitated as fuck.
It’s not often I lose, at least not since my teenage years, yet here I am. I lost Denver. Without a trace. She slipped through my fingers and I can’t figure out why the hell it matters.
Was it the challenge of bedding her? The thrill of a common enemy?
“How many times are we going to do this?” Bishop asks from the driver’s seat as we sit in the rental parked on the other side of the road from Perfezione’s entry. “I fucking hate Denver.”
“We both fucking hate Denver, but we’ll do this as many times as necessary.” Until I get answers. Closure. “If you have a problem with the working conditions, feel free to fuck off.”
He huffs a low chuckle. “You know this is messed up, right? It can only lead to drama.”
I don’t respond, partly because I don’t answer to him, but mostly because I’m robbed of speech as a familiar figure saunters along the sidewalk to push through the front doors of the restaurant, her beauty captivating as she speaks to the maître d’.
She wears an auburn wig this time. A white dress. The glasses remain perched on her nose while she draws my attention to her perfect mouth etched in more subtle lipstick.
She’s pure temptation.
Still way too beautiful to blend.
“She’s here.” I meet Bishop’s stare and push open my door. “This time, you better not lose sight of her if she runs.”
8
Matthew
I stalk my way across the room, not giving a shit who sees me as I pull out the chair opposite hers and sit. “It’s been a while, but finally, we meet again.”
Her face pales as our eyes meet, those gorgeous blue depths widening. “Are you crazy?” She frantically glances over her shoulder at the bustling restaurant. “What the hell are you doing?”
My pulse quickens at her panic. It fucking vibrates with euphoria. I can’t help a grin. “Costa’s not coming.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“He’s in Italy. There won’t be a family dinner tonight.”