The contrast of his gentle touches mixed with urgent passion was my undoing. It made this more than just a physical encounter, more than just an alcohol fueled lust. It made it dangerous in ways I hadn't anticipated.
Reality crashed into me like cold water. I pulled stiffened, my breath coming in shallow pants. Dario’s groan sounded frustrated but resigned. He ended the kiss slowly and placed hisforehead against mine for several heartbeats before letting me push him away, but only slightly.
When I looked up at him, Dario's gaze focused on me, dark with desire and confusion at my abrupt withdrawal. "I shouldn't have… I mean, I… we… can’t…" I stammered, my voice unsteady. I pressed my palms against his chest, creating space between us though every cell in my body protested the separation.
Dario didn't immediately release me. His hands remained at my waist, his expression a complex mixture of desire, surprise, and something that looked almost like vulnerability. "Belle," he said again, my name carrying a weight I wasn't prepared to interpret.
"I’m so sorry," I whispered, though the words felt like a lie even as I spoke them. "I work for you. This is—it's inappropriate."
I bent to retrieve my notebook, which had somehow been knocked off the bar. I used the movement to step out of his embrace completely. My hands trembled and my cheeks burned with a combination of desire and embarrassment. What had I been thinking? I’d just complicated a job I desperately needed.
When I straightened, Dario was watching me with unusual intensity, his composure visibly shaken, which shocked me. His hair was mussed where my fingers had run through it, his tie slightly askew. I'd done that, I realized with a mixture of pride and no small amount of horror.
"I should go," I said. "My shift starts soon and I need to, um, I should change into my uniform."
The words sounded hollow, inadequate excuses for my hasty retreat. But what could I say? That I was terrified not by what we'd done but by how much I wanted to continue? That the warnings from Valentina, from Ricky, from Mr. Longmire were echoing in my head, reminding me staff should never get too close to the owner?
Dario made no move to stop me as I backed toward the door. But his gaze never left mine, and the intensity of his stare felt like a physical touch. "This isn't finished, Belle," he said quietly.
The words sent a shiver down my spine, not of fear but of anticipation. Like I was only postponing the inevitable. I wanted to deny it, to insist this was a one-time lapse in judgment that would never be repeated. Instead, I said nothing, knowing any denial would ring false.
I turned and fled, the door closing behind me with a soft click that seemed to echo in the empty corridor. My lips still tingled from his kiss, my body still hummed with unfulfilled desire. Once I rounded the corner, I leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to my stomach, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my composure.
What had I done? Everything I'd worked for atThe Gray, the stability, the respectable job, the chances to build something for myself, all of it now balanced on a knife's edge because I couldn't maintain professional boundaries. Because one taste of Dario Luca had made me hungry for more in ways I hadn't believed possible.
I pushed away from the wall, straightening my dress with hands that still trembled slightly. I had a shift to work, customers to serve, a role to play that didn't include being the woman who'd just been thoroughly kissed by someone like Mr. Luca. I would go downstairs, change into my uniform, and act as though nothing had happened.
But as I made my way toward the staff area, I knew with absolute certainty that everything had changed. The line between us had not just been crossed, it had been obliterated. And despite all the warnings, despite all the reasons it was a terrible idea, a part of me I'd never acknowledged before was already counting the hours until I would see him again.
Chapter Nine
Belle
I balanced the heavy tray of cocktails with an abundance of care, weaving between tables where the wealthy and beautiful congregated like exotic birds at a watering hole. My steps were measured, my smile fixed in place, though beneath the professional veneer my thoughts tumbled like clothes in a dryer. Twenty-four hours since I'd kissed Dario Luca. Twenty-four hours of replaying that moment, of feeling his hands on my waist, his mouth against mine. Twenty-four hours of telling myself it could never happen again.The Grayseemed smaller tonight, the air charged with a tension that might have been my imagination, but felt as real as the weight of the drinks on my tray.
So far, I'd managed to avoid him. No easy feat considering his presence seemed to fill every corner of the club even when he wasn't physically there. I'd spent my entire shift with one eye on the VIP section, tensing whenever a dark-suited figure appeared in my peripheral vision.
"Belle!" Alison spoke to me as she passed, carrying her own tray of empty glasses. "Table seven needs another round of champagne."
I nodded, grateful for the distraction. The music pulsed around me, a heartbeat for the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor. Crystal chandeliers caught the light, fracturing it into thousands of tiny stars that danced across the ceiling and walls. I took a deep breath and refocused on my task, delivering the tray of signature cocktails to a table of finance types who barely glanced at me as I set each drink before them.
"Anything else I can get you?" I asked, my server smile firmly in place.
One of the men looked up, his gaze lingering a beat too long on my chest before he shook his head. I turned away, used to such appraisals, and headed back toward the bar to collect the champagne for table seven.
The crowd parted and closed around me like water. A woman in a red dress that probably cost more than my monthly rent laughed with her head thrown back, exposing the long line of her throat and the diamonds that glittered there. Two men in tailored suits spoke in low voices, their heads bent together over what looked like stock projections on a tablet. All of them spending a small fortune on alcohol.
I was so focused on navigating the packed floor that I didn't notice the man until his hand clamped around my wrist like a vise. My empty tray tilted, and I barely caught it before it clattered to the floor.
"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing," he slurred, his breath reeking of expensive bourbon. His grip tightened, pulling me toward him with enough force that I stumbled. "I've been watching you all night."
"Sir, I need to get back to the bar," I said, keeping my voice level despite the spike of adrenaline. "If you'd like to order a drink, I'll be happy to bring it to your table."
His other hand found my waist, fingers digging in with uncomfortable familiarity. "I'd like to order you, sweetheart. To go." His companions laughed, the sound grating against my already frayed nerves.
I tried to step back, but his grip held firm. "Please let go." The words came out steady, masking the fear that had begun to coil in my stomach.
"Come on, don't be like that." He tugged me closer, his bulk blocking my escape route. "I've got a suite upstairs. I'll pay triple whatever they're paying you here to 'serve' me privately." His free hand moved to my hip, then lower, touching me in a way that made my skin crawl.
