"Where are we?" I rasped, turning my head to the side so I could press a soft kiss to his temple. It was slick with perspiration, but it didn’t ick me out.
I didn’t think anything he could do would reap that particular miracle.
Even if he had chest hair, I wouldn’t care.
He could have hairy balls, and I’d probably be all over that.
Shit, this was getting serious.
His teeth dislodged from my throat in a move so seamless it made what should have been awkward totally natural. "My club," he rumbled as he softly patted my pussy as if it were a farewell, then he pressed a kiss to where he’d bitten. "Russu."
I blinked. "You own Russu?"
"You’ve heard of it?"
"I’ve heard of the two-hundred-dollar cover charge, the VIP sections that take up most of the top floors, and that they say if you press a button, some kind of ‘Ask Jeeves’ dude pops up with a bottle of Cristal."
He laughed. "You’ve never been?"
"I’ve been to the club but not the lounge." I pouted. "Nobody would ever take me up there."
"Well, let’s change that, hmm?"
Desire flickered through me, but this time, it was of a different variety—the gold digger scented action.
His hands grabbed at my ass. "I’ll have some business to attend to, but I’ll be all yours afterward."
"Okay," I agreed, accustomed to that. I was well at ease with entertaining myself.
"After, we’ll go back to my place, hmm?"
I bit my lip, and while the gold digger had been awakened, it was the weird ingenue he triggered in me that answered breathily, "Yes."
Apparently, the ingenue had no street smarts whatsoever because I didn’t ask where he lived or wonder about how I’d get home in the morning—I was just wrapped up in him.
He helped me off his lap like I couldn’t do it myself, tucked his arm around my shoulders once more, then when I was decent, he lowered the privacy screen and said something in a delicious language that sounded Italian but wasn’t.
"Give me your phone."
The order should have had me bristling, but still purring from my orgasms, I did as he asked, watching as he sent himself a message from my account.
"Just in case I need to get in touch." His top lip quirked up at the corner at my bemused glance. "If you want to check your makeup, do it now, cara mia."
Feeling oddly exhilarated at the way he’d taken my number—that had to mean he wanted to meet up again, right?—I quickly sorted out my hair, and a swift glance at the small mirror I pulled from my purse didn’t help much seeing as it was dark, but I saw that it was okay, mussed but kind of sexy with it.
As the car started, we drove through a well-lit area, and I saw my mouth was a mess, but I was prepared for every eventuality. I grabbed a wipe, cleaned it off quickly, then turned to wipe his mouth too.
Surprised when he let me, my breath caught at the intimate move as our gazes tangled once more.
We might as well have been kissing each other, that was how raw the moment was, one that was only broken when we pulled around the building toward the front of the club.
My eyes widened in surprise as we approached the entrance, and when the car came to a halt, the door opened with a flair.
Starting to scurry out, Luciu murmured, "Wait for me."
I wasn’t sure why, but I wasn’t about to argue with him. Instead, I watched as he straightened up, grabbed his discarded coat and tucked himself into it, before climbing out of the door and rounding the back of the vehicle. Entranced, I watched as the paparazzi in front of the club took notice of him, and the flashes of lights were...
What the hell?
Non-existent?
Their stares, on the other hand, were intense.
He didn’t flinch at being the center of their attention, just moved around to the door that was letting in a nasty draft, then bent down and held out his hand for me.
His saturnine beauty was even more awe-inducing because I knew him to own all this.
All this being a club that was the epicenter of Manhattan’s night life.
Moreover, Russu’s owner was a shadowy figure that rarely slithered in and out of gossipmongers’ big mouths because he was a ghost…
Tonight, though, he’d be on the tip of everyone’s tongue.
Because of me.
When he helped me out of the car, his hand firm around my fingers, his regard steady and heated with the memories of what we’d just done together, the cameras remained silent, but the intensity of the press’s stare tripled.
While they weren’t taking any photos, I was grateful I’d cleaned up our mouths because I felt sure they could see the zit I’d popped two days ago—that was the microscopic attention we were graced with.
This was the world I aspired to live in. One of fame, fortune, the high life. I wanted to reign over this sphere, to finally make a place for myself, but even as high as I'd gone with some of my exes, I had a feeling that Luciu dominated at a whole other level.
Behind our car, there were several vehicles pulling in—I heard their engines purring—but that didn't encourage the paparazzi to start taking shots.
As fear whistled through me, a peculiar warmth simmered in my veins alongside it.
This was power.
I'd seen it when I was with Aoife. The respect she was afforded as Finn O'Grady's wife was impressive.
This was the same.
But edgier.
People were outright scared of the O'Donnellys, but their fronts were a clever facade that fooled people into thinking they were turning legitimate.
Massive skyscrapers built by Acuig Corp.—the Irish Mob's corporate front—littered the Manhattan skyline, changing it and making it better. Museums were dedicated to them; there was talk of hospital wards getting the same treatment, and before O'Donnelly Sr. retired or died, I fully expected that he'd have a school named after him or something.
With the amount of money they were pumping into New York City, it was a wonder the governor hadn’t sucked O’Donnelly Sr. off in thanks.
So yes, those who knew about the Irish Mob feared them, but Acuig meant the public was gradually getting more used to their Kennedy-esque front. The glamor, the attendances at gubernatorial fundraisers and charity foundation galas were becoming the standard feature in the society pages.
This was different.
This was raw.
This was a man who had made a reputation for himself, a reputation that these journalists were well aware of and knew to back away from.
Amid this sea of predators, each one looking to make a quick buck, uncaring of whose privacy they trod upon, whose lives they ruined in the process, they realized the biggest one of all had showed up.
I wouldn't be a reputable gold digger if that didn't make me hot.
Arousal for me didn't work the same way as it did with every other woman. It took power and privilege and wealth and position to get me wet.
Consider me moist.
I almost smirked at the thought, but instead, terrified and thrilled all at the same time, I tucked my hand tighter into the crook of Luciu's arm, weirdly proud that I was here with this man.
He tangled his fingers with mine after he smoothed his thumb over my knuckles, and as he tilted his head down, murmured, "Sorry about this."